


Dark Heart, Bright Eyes

by Supreme_Thunder



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Love Triangles, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Love, i am a little shit and i am not going to apologize for it, i am not responsible for your hurt feelings so proceed with caution please, mainly a soumako fic this is very soumako at this core it will stay soumako for otp reasons, parental neglect, primarily SouMako, rape mention, references to symptoms of depression and ptsd, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 124,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2243310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supreme_Thunder/pseuds/Supreme_Thunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sousuke Yamazaki is the younger son of the wealthy and noble Duke Yamazaki. Caught in bed with another boy, he invoked the wrath of his cold and rigid father at an early age. The love of his life is his childhood friend, Rin Matsuoka, who rejected Sousuke's advances and left him broken-hearted.<br/>Makoto Tachibana's life has been a tragedy, leading him to prostitute himself at a young age after his mother's deaths in order to survive.<br/>To deal with their son's 'eccentric practices', the Yamazakis decide to hire a companion so he doesn't feel the need to stray far from home and put the family name at risk. Who ends up at Sousuke's door but Makoto?<br/>But why does Sousuke feel like he knows this cheerful, green-eyed boy from somewhere? When his lust for the younger man starts to turn into something more, Sousuke is forced to confront the heartbreak of his past before he can move on to a promising future with Makoto.<br/>Caught up in lives that keep coming together and falling apart, will they be able to find love with each other, or is it already too late for them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demons of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> In this setting, given their complicated past, Makoto is 19 and Sousuke is 23.  
> There are implications that Makoto was forced to use his body to survive in the past at a young age, but nothing is depicted directly. However, there will be a chapter or two close to the end where Makoto reflects back on his past.  
> I've edited the summary and notes since the fic was first published, and added two playlists for the first 20 chapters of the fic. 
> 
> Playlist Pt. I (Chapters 1-10):  
> http://8tracks.com/supreme-thunder/dark-heart-bright-eyes-pt-i
> 
> Playlist Pt. II (Chapters 11-20):  
> http://8tracks.com/supreme-thunder/dark-heart-bright-eyes-pt-ii
> 
> Playlist Pt. III (Chapters 21-30):  
> http://8tracks.com/supreme-thunder/dark-heart-bright-eyes-pt-iii
> 
> Playlist Pt. IV (Chapters 31-40)  
> http://8tracks.com/supreme-thunder/dark-heart-bright-eyes-pt-iv

Is this how lives change? Is this the beginning of a fairy tale? Am I to be rescued now, from my poverty, the endless hunger, the shame of the things I've done to keep living? Am I going to stop pausing at every bridge I cross, wondering if the depths of the water below hold eternal peace? If I had the courage, if I was strong enough, I would have ended my life years ago. But I was always weak.

The structure that rises before me under the dull light of a half-moon is , for the lack of a better word, overbearing. Dark, tall, impassable, dripping with the gloom of years, appearing abandoned. And who is the owner? The younger Lord Yamazaki. The black sheep of his family, the younger son with no prospects, the eccentric left to live his life out in this desolate corner of the family property.

I remember glimpses of him as a young man. My mother used to work in the kitchens of the Yamazaki estate when I was younger. And sometimes, I would be asked to carry piles of wood and help one of the maids light fires early in the morning. I was only 13 then, and lucky to be living the life of a kitchen maid’s son. My father died when I was very young, my mother told me, trampled by a coach and four owned by the Yamazakis on his way home from the farm one night. As our family were vassals of the Yamazakis, they’d seen fit to let my mother and me move into the servants’ dwellings and labour for 2 meals a day and a roof over our heads. I was even allowed to attend lessons at the estate church, where I learned to read and write. I also made it a habit to sneak into the library after dark to read the endless array of leather-bound books.  It was a miracle no one ever caught me. 

The younger Yamazaki son, Sousuke, was always angry. Kicking things, shouting at the servants. He scared me to tears once when I accidentally knocked over a table while lighting the fire in his room. He screamed so much I thought he would kill me there and then. But when I started to weep, he had calmed down instantly, and offered me some fruit from his table, ruffling my hair to calm me down. He wasn’t much older than me; 17 when I was 13. But even then he looked a full-grown man. Dark hair, deep-set eyes that couldn’t decide whether they were blue or green, always frowning, always furious at something. And I was a lanky boy, with limbs askew and always knocking things down, and dreams far above his station. My best hope would have been to grow up and be a page for the Yamazakis. I used to dream what it would be like to serve the young lord, of whether I could coax a smile from behind all the doom and gloom distorting his beautifully carved features. I didn’t know it then, but he was my first love. I used to dream of ways to make him happy. I left little bouquets of wild flowers in his room to cheer him up. Not that he ever noticed. I always found them on the same bedside table where I left them, until they'd rotted away and had to be tossed out. That never stopped me from leaving another and another and another to replace the dead one though.

Of course, the young lord was being eaten away by something else entirely; nothing that my useless flowers could cure anyway. Because I fancied myself his guardian angel, I took to following him around. And that’s when I saw it. His best friend had come for a visit. They would go out to walk in the woods every evening before dinner. This friend, the heir of the renowned Matsuoka family, he cheered up Lord Sousuke in a way that no one else could. My lord was all smiles and grace with Matsuoka around, and I hated the red-haired young man for it. When I happened upon them that night, they were both leaning against a tree deep in the estate's woods, Lord Sousuke hanging his head over his friend’s shoulder, whispering something. And then he’d pushed Matsuoka against the tree and forced himself on him, leaning in for a kiss. The slap on Lord Sousuke’s face echoed through the night and I heard myself gasp. After Matsuoka ran past me, unseeing, unheeding, running as fast as his legs would carry him, I stayed behind. Lord Sousuke fell to his knees before the tree, howling with angry tears. I still don’t know what came over me, but I left my hiding place and walked up to him, placing a clumsy hand on his shoulder. He was so desperate for comfort, so wrapped up in his pain, that he didn’t push me away, didn’t question my presence. Just reached up to hold my hand even tighter against his shoulder, tears running down his face. After what felt like an eternity under the starry sky of that impossible night, he left, ruffling my hair, but without sparing me a look. I doubt he remembers me at all. I hope he doesn’t.  

Of course, nothing lasts forever. My mother lost her job later that year. Something about being caught in bed with one of the lordly guests. We were both thrown out, and after 3 weeks of no place to sleep and nothing to eat, my mother threw herself into a lake. I should have followed suit, I know that now. But I couldn’t bring myself to. All the books I’d read in my other life had turned my head. I knew all I had to do was stay alive long enough for the page to turn, for my life to turn into a rose-coloured fantasy where all my wishes would come true.

I took to living on the streets, picking pockets, stealing petty items from shops to sell off for food. But when the winter came, I found it harder and harder to survive. I didn’t know another way to get by. Most people knew my mother’s fate, and refused to give me a job. I don’t know when it was first that a shadowy figure offered me a piece of bread for my services, and I followed my hunger down a dark alley, not knowing what waited for me at the end of it. I woke up in the morning with a swollen face, ripped clothes, blood in unlikely places, and a pain so sharp and deep it surpassed any physical discomfort. But the piece of bread I was clutching in my hand was the promise of another day, another night above the ground instead of below it.

I was 16 when I found my way into a real brothel. It came with its own security. No more fear of getting stabbed in an alley, no more risk of being paid with a beating instead of bread or coins.  Using my body for labour, whatever the definition of that labour was, earned me enough to keep living, so I took my chances. Besides, this way I earned enough to treat myself to a book once in a while. As long as there were lands beyond the horizon and across the sea to dream of, I didn’t care what I used my mouth and hands for while I was awake.

When the rigid-looking procurer from Duke Yamazaki’s estate showed up, I was summoned to meet with him by the brothel's owner. I fit the requirements quite well apparently. I was still fairly young at 19. 3 years at the brothel had left me with a full, lithe body and my own efforts had made sure I did not go soft living off the streets. My eyes were another charm point, being the color of sunlight shining through a canopy of the greenest trees in spring. The brothel’s mistress had also made sure my activities with the guests were limited to mostly the use of my mouth, and she tried to pass me off as a virgin to the wealthier customers. I knew how to act shy and scared, and managed to convince most of them I was worth every penny they paid for me.

The representative of the Yamazaki clan apparently found me satisfactory in terms of appearance. He’d brought a physician with him, who examined every inch of my body to make sure I was free of disease and other disfigurements. Only the best for Lord Sousuke, I suppose. He also took samples of my waste for who knows what. If I still knew how to blush, I would have gone red all over.

And a week later- a week of freedom from debasing myself, a week of reading the few books I had over and over again, of thinking about the teal eyes and gentle hands that waited for me- I was taken away.

“Remember who you are, Tachibana. Your services may be terminated at any point in time if you fail to satisfy the young lord. And then you’ll be back in that dump, like the piece of trash that you are.” The grey-faced man sighed as he said these words to me, worn by the cares he was burdened with.

“I know how to do my job. Don’t worry about me.” I reassured him in the calmest voice I could muster.

“If the young lord had been more discreet about his…activities, it would not have come to this. Just so you know, you’re here to prevent him from going after stable boys and field hands. We do not need another little bastard trying to blackmail the family. And he always gets bored with them so easily. And then they start acting like discarded lovers. Who knows why he always picks the most exasperating boys. So try to keep his interest for as long as you can. Because the day he's bored with you, you'll be returned to where I found you.”

As I enter the dark building late at night, I feel my hands going numb, my heart beating so hard it threatens to burst out of my chest. I remind myself that he is just another customer I have to satisfy, but that is not true. I want to make him happy, whatever the cost to my own person. I have vowed to use everything I have to try and please him. Even I’m not stupid and deluded enough to believe he will ever come to care for him. But if I can get him to smile again, to ruffle my hair just once, I won’t have to be a coward anymore. As I step towards his room, I suddenly understand why I’ve been forcing myself alive for so long. My life and all its miseries have always been leading me back to him.

 


	2. Terms and Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto is brought face to face with Lord Sousuke, who is eager to inspect the merchandise.

“Remember, he is quick to anger, and hard to please. Watch your step, and do as he says.”

“That’s my job.”

The heavy oak doors swing open, and I am ushered into a decadent bedroom. I feel like I've walked right back into my childhood. It’s decorated exactly like Lord Sousuke's room from his parents’ estate. The furniture, the books, the marble clock, even the same little table I knocked over once. A gateway to the past. A way to regain grace…

No, that would be too simple. It’s clear that Lord Sousuke is trying to hold on to his memories a little too fastidiously. Maybe he thinks if he keeps his world preserved, he can force time to stand still- he can have that summer with Matsuoka back, before everything went wrong for him. And it’s my job to get him to snap out of it. I wonder why he should forget his first love in the arms of a whore when I haven’t been able to shake him off after all these years. Why should he love any less than I?

Love…That word has no place in my life. Not anymore, if ever it did.

He is sitting on a high-backed chair lined with the deepest burgundy velvet. It looks the color of congealed blood in the dim candlelight. He is drinking wine out of a thick, squat bronze goblet. His lips are tinged with the red of it. His hair is falling over his eyes, his robe is loose, revealing a tanned chest and midriff, looking as if he's been sculpted by a master’s hands.

“My face is up here, boy.” His voice is the same as ever- hoarse, rough, sneering, ready to hurt.

I find myself going red in the face. How unusual. I thought I’d lost the ability to do that.

“He blushes like a bride on her wedding night, Takano. Where did you find him? I thought I was to be treated to a properly experienced, um, companion, was it?” His eyes are blunt-edged knives, piercing my skin, ripping through my composure.

“He is, young lord. He seems to be overwhelmed at the sight of such luxury I presume. Introduce yourself, boy.”

I’m going numb again. I can’t look at him without my soul catching fire, it seems. If I don’t get it together, if he decides he doesn’t want me, it will be over before it begins.

“Makoto Tachibana, my lord. At your service.”

“And do you know what kind of service it is you’re appointed for?”

“I do, my lord.”

“Tell me.”

“I…”

“What? If I wanted a stuttering idiot to fuck, I would coax one of my vassals into bed. Tell me clearly- what is it that you are expected to do for me?”

“Please you, my lord. In whatever way you desire.”

“Hmph. Better, I suppose. Now, get your clothes off, and let me have a look.”

“I…of course, my lord.”

 “I will wait outside, shall I?” Takano sees himself out, and I’m left alone under Lord Sousuke’s gaze. His face frightens me- it’s full of the kind of dark lust that has left me broken into bits for days at the hands of others. But he is not just anyone…I want him to use me; I don’t care what it does to me.

I take off my shirt first, combining the correct amount of nervousness and desire in my gestures. His words might be critical of me, but I know he’s enjoying the way I’m blushing, refusing to meet his eye, trembling ever so slightly. What bothers me is I don’t have to act it out at all. His eyes are invading me; I feel like I’m already laid bare before him to my very bones.

“Too slow.” He tosses the goblet aside, spilling red wine all over the carpet. He is taller than me, and sturdier. Which is intimidating, because I’m quite tall and well-built myself. He comes close, too close for comfort. One finger under my chin, he lifts my face so I have no choice but to look at him. His other hand grabs at hem of my pants and pulls me even closer. He reaches inside and takes a hold of my cock, already throbbing because of the way he’s touching me.

“Not bad.” He sneers and licks my neck, making me shudder.

“Now take it all off.” As if hypnotized by the echoing cadence of his words, I undo my belt and step out of what’s left of my clothes.

“Now get down on your knees and suck my cock.” Before I can obey, his hand is on top of my head, pushing me down. With trembling fingers, I take his hardness out, and lick the tip with my mouth. He utters a deep-throated groan that makes me harder than before, aching for relief. Without thinking, I take the length into my palm, and kiss him where he’s starting to get wet, the pre-cum mixing with my saliva. He grunts and grips my hair tighter, urging me on. I suck and lick until he’s warm inside my mouth. I swallow everything, every little drop. I ache to have him inside me, and I will take what I can get.

Sighing, he stumbles back to the chair, wearing just his robe.

“Get up.”

Knees trembling, I get up and face him. I’m so hard it hurts to stand.

“Now show me how you’d take care of yourself.”

He picks up the goblet, pours in more wine, and leans back, eyes fixed on me.

In a daze, I make myself come, looking at his face, thinking only of him. I haven’t felt this much pleasure before in my life, and I’m startled by its overwhelming surge.

When I’m done, he throws a piece of cloth at me.

“Clean yourself up. Your tongue already did a pretty thorough job with me.” He is smirking now, not sneering.

After I’m dressed again, he goes over the rules with me.

“You do what I tell you, when I tell you. You don’t sleep in my bed with me after I’m done with you. You get up and go back to your room. I should not have to ask you, just do it. Don’t even think of kissing me on the mouth. I’m not your lover, and you’re not my beloved. I like you so far. Keep it professional, and we’ll get along great.” His voice is so cold, so controlling.

I can’t kiss him. That was not something I had thought of. Then I think of everything I’ve done with my mouth, and I remember what I am. Of course. It only makes sense. But it doesn’t stop my chest from constricting so painfully, I feel like I’m dying. I nod at him quietly, and step outside. Takano is waiting.

“It appears you’ve pleased the young lord.”

Suddenly I understand.

“I’m not the first one you’ve tried out, am I?”

“Clever boy.”

“Not really.”

“The rest were, how shall I put it, a bit too professional? As much as he’d like to appear so, he is not that cold. I had a feeling you’d fit him perfectly.”

“You did?”

“I haven’t forgotten who you are, boy.”

“I see.”

“Try not to get thrown out this time.”

“Or I’ll end up like my mother, yes I know.”

“I wonder about that…”

The room assigned to me is small but comfortable. Better than anything I’ve even dreamed of living in. The windows overlook the woods, and I can catch glimpses of the small stream that runs through them.

Before he leaves, Takano leaves me a glass of milk and some pastries. I’m surprised he remembers I’ve always been fond of sweets.

“The library is on the third floor. You cannot miss it. But make sure it doesn’t interfere with your work.”

Despite the uncertainty of my situation, despite the fact that my body is still burning from Lord Sousuke’s touch, I cannot help but feel happy with a kind of purity I thought I’d lost years ago. After I bathe, I take a small lamp from my room and tiptoe all the way to the library. Grabbing the first slim volume, covered in green and gold markings, I return to my room. My work is night’s work anyway. I do not expect to be called by Lord Sousuke first thing in the morning. I read until I cannot keep my eyes open anymore.


	3. Dangerous Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite knowing his place in Lord Sousuke's life, Makoto cannot help but fall even deeper in love with him, moving closer to dangerous territory.

The sunlight in my face is still tinged blue with the fading night.

I am being shaken awake rather unceremoniously.

“Wake up, Tachibana! You are no longer in a house of disrepute! In this place, we rise with the sun!”

“This is so unfair. I was awake most of the night. And what am I supposed to do this early anyhow? Is Lord Sousuke already awake?”

“No he is not. But as his page, it is your duty to supervise his affairs, to wake him when it’s time, help him dress, bring his breakfast, whatever he desires.”

“I’m his what now? I thought I was the resident whore?”

“You will not use such a word under this roof, Tachibana. Do you think I parade it around among the servants and the vassals that the young lord has a propensity for sharing his bed with pretty boys like you?”

“Oh, well, that makes sense I guess. So I have to act two parts then?”

“If it doesn’t suit you, you know where the door is.”

“I never said that. I just didn’t expect it, that’s all. Don’t worry, I spent my childhood in a lordly estate. I already have the hang of things.”

Takano snorts at me in disbelief.

I wash my face in the a china basin by the window, comb my hair, and put on the fresh set of clothes Takano has provided for me. A white button down shirt, black trousers, and freshly polished black boots.

“Don’t I get a vest or a coat or something?”

“No. This is how the young lord prefers it. This is how you will dress. Now stop asking stupid questions, and get to his study. The fires need lighting, and it’s a mess anyway. See that his correspondence is in order, and organize the account statements. Then you can have breakfast.”

“Can I have breakfast before? Seeing as I didn’t have much in the way of dinner.” _Except my lord’s cum._

“Don’t forget the sweets I left for you. You’ll have breakfast when I say you can. The young lord wakes up after noon, so you will have plenty of time before that to stuff your gob.”

I cannot help but laugh at the way Takano is speaking to me. It makes me feel like I’m being treated like a human being, as if I have a place to belong to. It’s an illusion, a temporary blessing, but I have chosen to savor it anyway.

Lord Sousuke's study really is a disaster. I supervise the little servant boy, probably no more than 12 years old, in lighting the fire. He looks at me curiously when I smile at him, but doesn’t return my friendly gesture. I wonder how many like me he’s seen come and go.

I organize his correspondence the best way I can. There are barely any personal letters. Most of them are invitations to balls and gentlemen's clubs.

His bills are much more difficult to figure out. There are statements concerning land expenditures and local institutions asking for donations. Shopping receipts for ridiculously expensive and completely pointless things like silk shirts and costly wines.

I do my best, separating them categorically as well as by dates. I cannot help but worry how he manages to keep living as he does, seeing as he is not the primary benefactor of his father’s estate.

Takano catches me brooding over the accounts and pats my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, he can still pay you.”

“What? Oh…No I wasn’t even thinking about that. I was wondering…not that it’s my place, but…How does he manage to live like this? This land cannot amount to much, can it? I mean, it doesn’t look like it brings in much. Does he get an annual stipend from his father?”

“I see. Well, no need to worry. One of his doting uncles left him everything he had, which was quite a lot. He can spend like this for a 100 years and still have enough to gamble with the Devil himself.”

“Oh. And what did you mean by me getting paid?”

“Well, you do expect payment for your services, don’t you?”

“I…I have a place to sleep, food to eat, books to read. I don’t want anything else really.”

“Interesting perspective. But the young lord doesn’t see it that way. He must define this relationship clearly as a business transaction. And therefore, you will be paid for your services on a weekly basis.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face. I’m not going to be allowed to forget what I am, then.

“You’re disappointed?”

“What? Well…No, of course not. What whore doesn’t want money, eh?”

“Didn’t I tell you not to use that word?”

“Sorry, it slipped…”

Takano is looking at me curiously, with something akin to pity in his eyes. I hate being looked at that way. So many people have looked at me with pity when they saw me on the side of street, wearing rags, bone-thin, begging for food. Pity doesn’t feed you, and it doesn’t clothe you. It does nothing but watch as you sink deeper and deeper into hell, unable to salvage anything of yourself…

I have breakfast in my room. Scones, eggs, bacon, butter, an assortment of jams, hot tea in a beautiful china teapot. I’ve been given my own cups and plates. Delicate green things, with gold willow patterns on them. I have never imagined being able to eat like this, to live like this at all. I smile like a child at the stupid little luxuries. I let myself be happy about these small things, because I know that’s the only way someone like me can have happiness; in tiny pieces here and there, fragmented across a life made dull with sorrow and pain.

A little before noon, I fix my appearance, and make my way to Lord Sousuke’s bedroom. As instructed by Takano, I walk in quietly and move the heavy drapes aside to let the sun in.

Completely out of the blue, a heavy cushion hits me squarely between the shoulders, and I let out a little yelp of surprise.

“What are you, a puppy? What grown man makes that kind of sound?” Lord Sousuke sounds amused despite the annoyance etched on his face. I have been warned that he does not enjoy being woken up, no matter what the hour.

“Sorry, my lord.”

“Is it noon already? Ugh. Bring me my wash basin, and empty the chamber pot.”

I do as I’m instructed, blushing uncontrollably when he takes off his robe and steps into the bath that has been prepared for him in the small toilette chamber adjoining his room.

“What are you standing there for? Bring me a washcloth and grab one of those ridiculous bottles of oil over there.”

Keeping my eyes averted from him as much as possible, I continue to follow his commands. If I look at him now, I won’t be able to help myself- I fear that my body will betray the desire building up in the pit of my stomach, traveling down my thighs.

“Scrub my back, will you? Have you never done this kind of thing before?”

“N-no, my lord.”

I kneel down behind the tub as he arches his back in front of me, exposing its muscular length for me to clean. With trembling hands, I gently rub the washcloth in circles.

“What do you take me for, your pet kitten? Scrub harder, boy.”

I do the best I can, and feel him relax under my hands. When I’m done, I pour water over him so he can wash his hair. The water is clear, and I can see his manhood.

“Like what you see?” He is smirking at the way I go red at being caught staring.

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Is the door locked?”

“My lord?”

“Go lock the door, you stupid boy.”

I do as I’m told, and when I turn around to face him again, he’s smiling at me, one hand beckoning me towards the tub.

“Get your clothes off, and get in.”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Undressing as he watches, I feel like I’m on fire. My cock is already getting hard- just having him look at me is enough to drive me mad.

As I step into the tub, he asks me to turn around so I have my back to him. He reaches up and grabs me by the waist, pulling me down between his thighs. One hand grabs my cock and starts tugging at it, and the other plays with my entrance, sticking in one finger, then two. When I’m sufficiently hard, he reaches for the bottle of oil, takes a few drops and slicks up my hole. He slides inside me, and I cannot help but groan with pleasure. I’m surprised at how good he feels, how I love the pain that mingles with the pleasure, letting me know he is inside me, invading me, making me his. I begin to move hips against him and he grunts with pleasure. His right hand returns to my cock, gripping and stroking. With his left hand, he pinches my nipples one by one, until I’m shuddering against him, almost screaming with the intensity of our fucking.

I come just after he does, and lean back against him, out of breath, completely spent. We stay like this for a while, without a word, without a kiss. I don’t know if I should move without him asking me to. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m used to being taken and tossed aside. But his arms are still around me, and he is not making any efforts to push me away, so I stay there, dreading the moment this ends.

“Right then, I need a towel, and so do you, I suppose.” His voice is a mere whisper in my ear. I want him to take me again, I want him to use me again and again until I’m nothing more than an extension of his body, until I stop being me.

I get up, dripping cum and water. There is only one towel sitting next to the bath tub. Of course. Only Lord Sousuke is supposed to be bathing. He laughs at the way I’m standing next to him, handing him the towel, naked and wet. After he’s done wiping himself dry, he hands me the towel. It’s wet and warm with him, and as I use to clean myself up, I feel like my heart will burst, and I have no idea why. I dress as he watches and when I turn towards him with his underclothes, he grabs me by the collar and starts licking and biting my neck. Weak in the knees, I sink to the floor. As I take him in my mouth, I reach a hand down and make myself come. Once again, I swallow his cum as he ruffles my hair and says my name, so lightly, like a sigh. For no reason I can possibly think of, I feel my eyes stinging with tears.

If this is happiness, I do not know how to feel it. My mind cannot process it. My body is not used to being treated like this. I have been wanted, I have been taken, I have been fucked. But this is the first time that I’m burning with desire for another man. I want him to keep fucking me, I want to keep taking him in my mouth, in my hands, over and over and over.

Finally cleaned up and dressed, we walk out to his bedroom, and I bring him his breakfast. He dismisses me as he eats. I can barely control myself as I run back to my room, fall in bed, and pleasure myself again, thinking of what we just did.

This is not good, and I know it. Love, desire, want. I am not made for any of this. But I can no longer control myself. I cannot wait for the sun to set so I can be with him again. As I stand next to him in the study that evening, watching him argue with Takano about not wanting to go to some lord’s wedding reception, I keep praying that his need has not been satisfied yet, that he’ll drag me to bed when I help him undress at night. I’m on dangerous grounds, and I know it. Is this how my mother felt? Is this what led her to her death? My only comfort is that there is no one depending on me to keep them safe, no one who will have to pay the price if I am lost.

The days ahead of me are dark. He cannot love me back. He must not. But I cannot help wishing, hoping, praying that he will. I have doomed myself already, but I do not care. This is all I have left to live for.


	4. Love's Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Makoto's situation grows more hopeless, he realizes he's falling too deep for Lord Sousuke. But it's too late to turn back.

After dark, with the curtains drawn again, he is waiting for me when I walk into his room to help him change for bed. It’s just an excuse, and we both know it. He is already in his robe, pacing around impatiently. Without so much as a word, he grabs me by the waist and turns me over on his bed. His hands reach under my shirt, his fingers twist my nipples until I’m gasping. Then he pulls down my pants, pushing me onto the bed, thrusting inside me until we’ve both come. When he’s done, he sits back while I change the sheets and quickly return to my own room.

The quickness of it, the sharp manner in which he takes me, is so different from before. I feel like crying, and I have to remind myself again that I’m just a way for him to assuage his appetite. I am not his lover. I cannot be his lover…

I busy myself with a book, trying to forget about the rough manner in which he grabbed me, trying not to think about the bruises his hands have left on my hips. Like others before him. Why did I think this was any different, that he was any different? He is paying for me; he is just another customer.

The soft knock on my door startles me. Takano goes to bed early, so I wonder what has brought him here at this hour. Before I can say “come in”, the knob turns and Lord Sousuke steps inside.

“M-my lord?” I’m starting to think this is a dream. Why else would he be here?

“You’re reading?” He looks truly baffled as he stares at me sitting in my bed with a pile of carefully selected books next to me, and one propped open in my lap.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You can read?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“How can you read?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t understand…”

“Were there reading lessons at the brothel you worked at? I mean…”

“I wasn’t born there, you know, my lord.” I cannot help laughing at his amazement.

“Oh. No, of course you weren’t. How stupid of me. It’s just surprising, that you know enough to be reading this many books…”

“I took them with Takano’s permission, my lord. I can return them right away if you want.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that.”

“What can I do for you, my lord?”

“Oh. Right. Well, it’s fine. I mean. I just…”

What else would he have come here for at this time of the night, knocking on my lowly door, but another fuck?

I’m already shirtless. I get up off my bed and remove the rest of my clothes. Walking up to him, I go down on my knees and suck him off until his cum is gushing in my mouth.

Wiping my lips, I get up to look at him.

“Will that be all, my lord?”

He’s staring at my hips, where dull blue bruises have sprung up like forget-me-nots.

“You didn’t hurt me, my lord. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

I have spoken out of turn, but it’s too late to take the words back.

“I…didn’t mean to be so forceful. I just…”

“It’s fine, my lord. I’ve had much worse.”

I say it lightly to make him feel better, though it is true. The marks he has left on my body are reminders that he’s held me. I do not mind them at all. But the way he flinches at my words leaves me startled.

“You’ve been hurt much worse than this?”

“Oh. I…”

“How?”

“My lord?”

The concern in his eyes is so surprising. Tears come to my eyes unbidden. He cannot, must not say these things to me when he’s paying me to be here. Or I'll start to think he cares. My heart hurts. I want him to hold me, to ask me about everything that’s ever caused me pain, to tell me it will be alright, that he will stay with me…

“Oh, no. Never mind. Sorry, I shouldn’t pry. Your life is none of my business. I’ll take my leave. I…appreciate your…um…services.”

Was it concern or was he simply curious? It doesn’t matter anymore. After he leaves, I fall to the floor, reliving every single time I’ve been hurt, used, beaten. There is nothing there but the dark and cold night. I want to call out to him, to beg him for one night where he lets me stay with him until the sun comes up.

When Takano wakes me up in the morning, I’m still curled up naked on the floor, my eyes red and puffy, my head throbbing with a tear-induced headache.

“If this job is too much for you, you need to tell me now.” He is frowning, but I can see that he is not angry at me.

“I’ll be okay. Just give me an hour and some cold water. I know how to deal with this.”

“Is…everything okay, Makoto?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I was just being stupid. I’m sorry.”

“If you say so…Oh, and before I forget. Here’s your first payment. The young lord insisted you have it right away. Your services must have been satisfactory.”

When I don’t reach out for the little bag of gold coins he’s holding out for me, he places it on the floor in front of me. Before he leaves, he pats my head softly.

I am excused from helping Lord Sousuke dress that morning. Takano advises me to take a break instead, and acquaint myself with the village, maybe spend some of my well-earned money…

I go for a walk in the woods instead, the little bag of gold coins in my hand, weighing me down, making me feel dirty. Deep in the woods, I come across two little boys, trying to hunt a squirrel.

“Hey, leave it alone! What did it do to hurt you?” For some reason, I’ve always considered myself a champion of small, defenceless creatures. Not that I’ve ever been able to save anyone. How can I, if I cannot even save myself?

“Sorry sir. But it’s just that we’re hungry. And…” The younger boy speaks up before his brother can elbow him in the ribs to stop him.

“We ain’t poachers, sir. We’re not. Please don’t tell anyone. We won’t ever come back. We know the young lord  likes to drink little children’s blood if they're caught poaching. Please don’t tell him.” The older one is on his knees before me, pleading so earnestly that I feel bad for bursting out laughing at this dark caricature of Lord Sousuke he draws before me.

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear. And Lord Sousuke does not thrive on human blood. You leave that squirrel alone, and I’ll give you something better.” I take out a single shiny, fat coin from my bag and hand it over to the older boy. “Go buy yourself some proper food instead, alright?”

Faces beaming in disbelief, they thank me a bit too excessively before running off. After they’ve gone, I realize I haven’t bothered to ask their names.

That’s how he must have seen me. A nameless, faceless little servant boy, running errands around his father’s estate. Why did I ever expect him to remember me? He seemed to think I was born in a brothel, brought over for his use, ready to discard when he’s had his fill of me…

The woods are vast, quiet, dark. The stream hisses past me. I cannot hear anything but the water, the birds that wheel and bound through the air above me. Summer is dying, but the air is still warm. Without thinking, I take off my clothes and walk into the water. I feel lighter, a bit cleaner after giving out the coin. I wash myself, scraping a bit too hard in every place where I still feel his touch against my skin, until I’m red and raw all over. I will not keep a single coin he’s given me. I don’t know why it matters so much, but I will not be paid for this time. Not by him. If he cannot love me, if that is not possible, then so be it.

But I do love him. And I will not accept payment for the time I spend with him. I give myself to him willingly. The pleasure I feel when he’s inside me is real. I love him, and as long as _I_ know that, it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t.


	5. History of Heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto runs into a drunk Lord Sousuke late at night, and rather unexpectedly, leading to certain revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter exposes some of Sousuke's thoughts (but from Makoto's POV). There will definitely be a couple, if not more, of Sousuke POV chapters in the near future. Enjoy this for now.

After that, he doesn’t try anything for a few nights. I merely perform the duties of a page, and I leave him to brood. Because it’s obvious that he is brooding. The dark circles under his eyes, the excessive consumption of wine after dark, waking up well after noon, getting angry if he’s disturbed before that at all.

Every time he makes me leave without touching me, without a single spark of desire in his eyes, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. But this is not up to me. How and when he takes me to bed is not my decision to make.

And so a week passes.

It’s much after dark when I decide to get another book from the library. Even after relieving the tension building up inside my body in the absence of his touch, I cannot fall asleep. And I’ve already read all the books I borrowed before.

Lantern in one hand, I walk down the stairs, tiptoeing across dark corridors, trying to make my way to the other end of the house where the marble staircase leads up to my sanctuary, lined wall to wall with books.

I am almost there, slinking across a low-ceilinged corridor lined with portraits of Yamazakis, now dead and beneath the ground, when I run into him.

“Lost on the way to the library, Makoto?” His voice is coarse, and I can smell the alcohol coming off him. He’s been up drinking again. But why is he here?

“I’m sorry my lord. I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

“You know this place is haunted, surely?”

“Haunted?”

“Yes, Makoto, haunted. Do you believe in ghosts? Do the dead scare you?”

“The living scare me, my lord. The dead just make me sad.”

“Will you cry for me, if I’m dead? When I’m dead?”

“Why would you say such a thing, my lord?”

“Everyone dies, Makoto. Eventually.”

“Well, yes, my lord.” My amusement at this clichéd statement must have been obvious, because he steps out of the shadows to look at me closely. I cannot help but notice the empty goblet in his hand, the loosely tied robe exposing his chest, the drooping eyelids, the messed up hair. I want to ask him what’s wrong, I want him to seek refuge in my arms and sleep peacefully.

“You know who all these people are? These dead, hoary faces staring down at us?”

“Your ancestors, I assume?”

“Yamazaki degenerates. The outcasts, the black sheep, the family disgraces. We all get sent out here to die, you know. This is where our lives are meant to conclude, in this den of dark despair. This old gentleman right here, the one with the hawkish eyebrows and the thinnest lips I have ever seen? He used to bring in young women from the village on the pretext of giving them work. The dungeons are still littered with their bones Makoto. On stormy nights, if you go down there, you can still hear them wailing, begging for release.”

“I…I didn’t know that my lord.”

“Of course not. The servants all know, they’ve all heard the tales, but they won’t say a word. The villagers think I’m a vampire, you know. Because I stay in all day and stay up all night. Do you think I’m as evil as that Makoto? A drinker of innocent blood?”

He comes nearer, leaning in, sniffing my neck, smiling darkly. I’m entranced by his presence. I cannot move.

“No, really, Makoto. Will you mourn me when I die?”

He is so close to me, I can almost taste the wine on his lips.

“Yes.”

“Of course you would. That’ll be your best customer dead and buried.” He sneers at me, and turns away.

“You’re mistaken, my lord.”

Why am I saying this to him? What can a whore’s confession matter to someone like him?

“Oh? Do you fancy yourself in love, Tachibana?”

He’s stopped calling me Makoto. I should have kept those words to myself.

“I…”

“You what? What has Takano told you about my past dalliances? He likes to paint this picture of me as a man of the world, having taken ever so many men to bed.”

“He implied as much, my lord.”

“Well, that’s not true. Before you, he brought a number of other whores to me. I couldn’t bring myself to even touch them, really. Something about you…your eyes are reminders of something long gone. A happier time. But how can that be, Tachibana?”

“I…I’m not sure, my lord.”

Does he remember me then? Even though the memories are so deeply buried he cannot place me exactly... 

“And before you and the other whores, it was a stable boy. He thought himself in love too, Tachibana. Crept up to my room after dark, whispered sweet nothings in my ear, kept it up for a month I think. It was a good way to pass the time, so I let him. But then he ran off, with some trinkets from my room he considered valuable. Takano wanted him caught and whipped, but what did it matter?”

“You just let him get away?”

“What was I going to do with him if he was caught? Berate him for fucking me only so he could steal from me? That would be pathetic.”

“Did you…did you care for him, my lord?”

He is drunk, he is raving, he won’t even remember this in the morning.

“No. I used to think of someone else while I fucked him.”

“I see.”

“I think of someone else when I fuck you too, Tachibana. So keep your declarations of love to yourself. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

I can only stare at him, willing myself not to cry.

It must be Matsuoka he thinks of when he’s touching me, when he’s inside me. It has to be. The pain building up inside me is almost unbearable. 

“But right now, I _do_ want to fuck you Tachibana. I really do. Maybe I’m too drunk, but I actually want _you_. My heart may not beat for you, but my cock sure as fuck throbs for you.”

He rips open my shirt- the buttons tear and clatter to the floor. We are both undressed by his hands in mere moments. He is already hard, and he pushes me against the wall, grabbing a hold of my cock, pressing it against his own. I gasp loudly, uncontrollably at the contact, and he puts his free hand on my mouth to silence me.

“You touch me as I touch you, Tachibana. Go on. But not a sound. The servants like to pretend you’re my page, so let’s let them maintain the illusion, shall we?” He hisses close to my ear, biting the lobe. Our bodies are pressed close to each other, stroking, tugging, his mouth on my neck, his nipples rubbing against mine, both of us trying not to moan in ecstasy as we come all over each other’s hands.

He steps away from me, licking his fingers, breathing heavily.

“I want to clean you up, Tachibana.”

“M-my lord?”

Before I can stop him, he is on his knees before me, licking cum from my cock, my stomach, making his way up to my chest. Just before our lips can meet, he turns away, picking up his robe, wiping himself clean with it. Naked and quite thoroughly drunk, he walks off to his bedroom, leaving me standing where I am, stunned and hard again at the way his tongue has explored my body.

As fast as I can, I gather my clothes together without bothering to dress and run back to my room, praying that no one sees me. 

My gut tells me he will call for me in the morning. He will bend me over, he will fuck me thinking of Matsuako as usual. But tonight, he wasn’t thinking of anyone else but _me_. And for now, that’s enough.


	6. Unexpected Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto's earlier actions come back to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some not so new characters are briefly introduced.   
> Thank you for all the continuing support and comments.  
> A word of warning: This is a fundamentally angsty fic. It will get much worse before it gets better. Sorry in advance.

“Get up Tachibana!” Takano’s voice is panicked, urgent.

“What’s wrong? Is Lord Sousuke okay?” Did he make it back to his room after our encounter? Should I have followed him, made sure he was safe in bed?

My head is still groggy from last night. I didn’t even clean up afterwards, thinking I could always wash up in the morning. Now it seems like there isn’t any time.

“The young lord is fine. You might not be. Hurry up and get dressed.” Takano is positively glaring at me. Despite the fact that he’s mentioned I’m in some kind of trouble, I feel relieved to know that Lord Sousuke is unharmed and safe.

“What have I done now? Oh…did someone find out about last night?” I question cautiously.

“What did you do last night? No, the better question would be, where did you do it?” Takano is scowling, even more furious than before.

“Can you explain what this is about, please?”

“When I paid you, Tachibana, it was not my intention to have you go around spreading your ill-earned wages on village scamps.”

“What are you talking about?” I feel a dread building up in the pit of my stomach.

“The boys you gave your wages to- they’ve been accused of theft and brought up before the young lord for judgment. After the baker took it upon himself to whip them, of course. Lord Sousuke is already dressed and waiting in the hall. Go clear it up immediately. And then we’ll talk about this ridiculous spirit of charity you appear to possess.”

“H-how did you know it was me?”

Takano looks at me again, his expression softening.

“Because you’re the only one stupid enough to do something like this. You were always like this.”

“Like what?”

“Too concerned about everyone else to think about the consequences of your foolish actions.”

“Oh.”

“Now hurry!”

Haphazardly, I throw on my clothes, still crumpled from last night, before I realize the buttons from my shirt are gone.

Takano notices as well, and glares at me again with such intensity, I find myself wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Wait here, you buffoon!” He marches out of the room in a huff and returns with a new shirt.

A minute later, we’re rushing down the stairs to the vast hall with its arched roof, and its rich but ghastly tapestries of hunters and their prey, where Lord Sousuke holds audience with his subjects.

He is sitting on the high-backed ebony chair, his hair a mess, his eyes red, clearly nursing a hangover. On the floor before him, two small figures kneel to the ground, their frames wracked with sobs, their backs ripped and bloody, surrounded by the fearsome figures of the Yamazaki estate’s law-keepers.

I cannot stop myself. I run straight to the two children, falling to my knees before them, trying to soothe them. I cannot stop myself from crying with them. Scenes from my own past whirl before my blurred sight, making my head spin, making my chest hurt.

“They need to be looked after.” I look straight at Lord Sousuke, angry, frustrated, wondering why he’s allowing this to go on.

“They are little thieves. They will be thrown into the dungeon, not looked after. Step away from them.” The leery voice, clearly enjoying the scene, belongs to Handa, one of the men who insisted on holding me down while I was being inspected at the brothel, until Takano physically removed him from the room.

“They are not thieves, my lord. This is a misunderstanding. Please let me explain.” I ignore Handa, and keep looking at Lord Sousuke, pleading with him without words.

“Explain then.” His voice is fearsome, seething with anger.

“The money they had. I gave it to them. To buy food with. They didn’t steal anything. Please you must let me clean their wounds. They’re just children, my lord. They can’t possibly bear so much pain…” I break down completely. I must look pathetic, sniveling on the floor like this, my nose running, my face swollen.

But I keep looking at him, determined. He stares back at me fixedly, his eyes narrow, and I see them flicker for a second. His expression changes from brooding anger to questioning uncertainty.

“Do I know you?” His question throws me off completely. I can only look at him, unable to comprehend what he’s asking me.

“Of course you do my lord, he’s your page.” Takano interrupts hastily.

“Right. Fine. Okay. So that’s settled. The mistake was not the children's, it was one of my servants who brought this upon us all. Rest assured, he will be punished. By me. Severely. Now, leave my sight, all of you.” Lord Sousuke sounds impatient, still angry.

“Will that be quite all, my lord?” Takano seems to disagree with Lord Sousuke about the hasty conclusion to this audience.

“No. I suppose not. You, baker. Next time you whip children without my knowledge, I will see it to it personally that your hands are broken. Oh, and Takano, make sure the boys are seen to, and call their parents or something.” Before anyone can say another word, he gets up and ascends the stairs leading back to his bedchamber.

It doesn’t seem enough. The baker stands there, shuddering.

“B-but, it wasn’t even me. I wanted to bring them straight to the lord. But when I talked to Handa over here, he decided to take matters in his own hands. Mr. Takano, please, I would never…” The baker has lost his composure, and Handa’s expression darkens.

“What is done is done now. I suggest you all go your separate ways, and mind your business from now on. Or I’ll know the reason why.” Everyone seems to know instinctively that Takano’s word is law on the estate, and they all disperse immediately without any further grumbling.

I cannot help but notice Handa leering at me as he leaves, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I make a mental note never to run into him on my own if I can help it.

Afterwards, with the help of one of the stewards, I move the injured children to an empty bedroom, while Takano fetches the physician. The same one who inspected me before my arrival. He seems surprised to see me. “Still here then? Well, good for you.” I find myself going red.

I hold the younger boy’s hand while his wounds are being cleaned. He sobs openly and clutches onto me as hard as he can. His older brother is being strong for both of them, insisting that Nagisa gets treated first. His name is Rei, he tells me through pained gasps, and apologizes to me for causing all this trouble. I stroke his hair quietly, assuring him that none of this is his fault.

Takano summons me outside the room.

“Well, it turns out these two are neither brothers, nor do they have any parents.” His face reflects concern and a kind of softness I have never seen before.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re orphans. No one knows who they originally belonged to. But they’ve been wandering together for as long as the villagers remember. No one has any grudges against them, and they’re allowed to sleep in barns, and eat leftovers to get by. They don’t have anywhere to go, really.”

“Can they stay here? I’ll take responsibility for them. I’ll pay for their clothes and food from my wages. They can even stay in my room.”

Takano is smiling at me.

“I’ve already made the necessary arrangements. They’ll be working in the kitchens, running errands inside the house. You won’t be sharing your room with them. That’s not really practical, seeing as the young lord has taken to visiting you in your own quarters. Don’t gape. It’s my job to know what goes on here. But keep an eye on them, and make sure they don’t run off.”

“I will. Shall I tell them?”

“No. You’ve been summoned to the young lord’s bedchamber. So off you go. I’ll deal with this.”

As I make my way reluctantly towards Lord Sousuke, I remember his promise to punish me. I remember the story he told me about the dungeons last night and shudder involuntarily. Surely he cannot be so angry at me as to confine me there…

When I step inside, he orders me to strip and lock the doors.

I stare at him with my mouth open. He cannot possibly be thinking of fucking me after what happened this morning, after all that anger…

“Did you not hear me, Tachibana? Take off your clothes, lock the door, and come here. I promised my subjects I would punish you, and I must keep my word, don’t you agree?” He is smiling, staring at me, already undressing me with his eyes.

I start walking towards the door to lock it.

“No. That’s not how I remember telling you to do it. Undress first. You must obey me exactly as I tell you to, Makoto.” I feel myself melting at the way he says my name in that thick, hoarse voice.

Trembling with excitement and unable to hold myself back, I take off my clothes. Traces of last night are still visible on my body. After I’m completely naked, I lock the door, praying that I get there before anyone barges in.

I’m standing in front of him, as he sips at some water and looks me up and down approvingly.

“Now, face down, across my lap.”

I know what he intends to do. It’s been done to me before. But knowing that it’s going to be him sends shivers down my body, and my cock begins to stir.

He must have noticed, because he laughs.

As I place myself in the proper position, he reaches a hand between my thighs and pushes them apart, running his fingers across my entrances, reaching further to stroke my cock. I put my fist in my mouth to stifle the moaning, but it’s too late.

“Don’t worry. Don’t hold back. Even if someone happens to hear, they’ll know I’m as good as my word, that you’re being thoroughly punished for your stupidity.” He leans over me, whispering close to my ear.

Then he grabs both of my arms and ties them behind my back with a piece of silk.

“There, that’s better.”

His hand is too gentle to be punishing, but not so gentle as to stop me from screaming out, pleasure and pain making me unable to breathe properly.

Every time his palm strikes my buttocks, my entire body bucks from the desire building up inside. His breathing is heavier now, and I feel his hardness against my stomach, poking through the fabric of his pants. He spreads his legs wider, grabs me by the waist and adjusts me so my naked cock is throbbing against his bulge. The sound I make at the contact is too much for him. His blows become stronger, harder, and then he stops, gasping for breath.

“Enough of that now.” He swallows thickly, and shifts my weight off his knees, my hands still tied. His strength always surprises me; the ease with which he can handle my body always takes my breath away.

“Now suck me off. Make me cum.” He undoes the buttons on his pants, letting his cock out, grabbing my head as I take him in my mouth. My own hardness is excruciating, begging for release, but he won’t allow it.

I tease him slowly with my tongue, licking the length of his hardness, lingering just a little too long on the tip.

“Ngghhh. Hurry up, you tease. I can’t wait anymore.” He grips my hair and pushes me down.

I take him in deep, hearing him grunt with pleasure until he comes.

“Swallow it all.” He commands, and I obey.

“Now what shall we do about you? Should this be your punishment? Let’s see how long you can stay hard without cumming.” He leans back in his chair, satisfied, scanning my face, smiling darkly.

“P-please my lord.”

“Please what, Makoto?”

“Please, fuck me my lord.”

“Hmmm. And why should I do that?”

“I can’t bear it anymore, my lord.”

“What do you want me to use, Makoto? My cock, my hands, or my mouth?”

“Uh…m-my lord…”

“I won’t fuck you until you tell me what you’d like best.”

Although the agony of unsatisfied desire is making my mind go blank, I cannot help but luxuriate in every word he says. I want him inside me, before I lose my sanity.

“Y-your cock, my lord.”

“Correct answer.” His smile widens as he stands up.

“Stand up then, Makoto.”

I do as I’m told, and he grabs me by my hard cock, pinching the tip. I gasp with the excruciating mixture of desire and helplessness.

“You only come when I let you, Makoto.”

He lifts my arms above my head, and pushes me onto his bed. I land on my back and he kneels between my legs, lifting me up by the hips. I can see that he is hard again just by looking at me. I’m thrashing and moaning uncontrollably as he bends down a little to lick my entrance, making it slick. With another grunt of pleasure, he enters me, thrusting with all the force he can muster.

“Uh, uh, harder, my lord! Harder! Please! I want to cum!”

I no longer know what I’m saying. My desire is all that’s left of me, his presence inside me is all that I can feel. I close my eyes, unable to bear it anymore. My mind goes blank and my breath leaves me.

When I open my eyes again, he is still inside me, slumped up across my body, his face against my shoulder, moaning my name softly.

Returning to his senses, he sits upright again, running his fingers across my flat stomach, sticky with both our juices. He licks his index finger, then makes me clean the rest of his hand with my tongue.

Untying me finally, he asks me to prepare his bath. As I stumble out of bed, I fall to the floor immediately. He laughs at me, and pushes me back onto the bed.

“I guess I’ll do it myself today.” He laughs at me, stroking my face. I blush deep and red, and suddenly he stops, aware of the intimacy between us. Aware of the fact that he’s said my name one too many times while fucking me today. He could not possibly have been thinking of Matsuoka during all of that...

He stands up stiffly, his back to me, and walks to the adjoining chamber for his bath.

“I won’t be needing you tonight. Make yourself decent and leave.”

“Yes, my lord.” Even though he’s pretending it didn’t happen- that he didn't whisper my name while he was inside me, looking me in the eyes, touching me forcefully, gently- I cannot help but smile. It’s a small victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless. 


	7. Nocturnal Phantoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke questions his feelings, and tells Makoto a ghost story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Sousuke's POV.

I should withdraw now, before it goes too far. But I cannot stop myself from wanting him. Wanting him all the time. _Needing_ him…

No that will not do. How can I be thinking that? He’s nothing more than property, a monetary transaction. I’m paying for him. But…

Telling him I didn’t need him tonight- that was presumptuous of me, almost asinine. His scent lingers in the air long after he leaves, his sweat on my sheets, his eyes…I see them everywhere, even in my dreams. I cannot allow this to happen. Not him.

My fingers are itching to touch him, my ears hunger for the sound of his moaning as I enter him, as I hold him. How little time has passed before he has invaded every sense I possess? How does he slither into my mind like this, so easily? One morning I opened my eyes, and he refused to fade with my drifting dreams. And now…

It isn’t anything more than lust. How can it be? But he stirs something in my heart, something deep inside my mind. All the words, all the feelings I buried so long ago. One look at him, the way his eyes glaze over when he sees me, and my heart misses a beat. It cannot happen, not again. Am I doomed to love those who cannot love me back, or will not?

But my desire waxes with the moon at night, growing full and bright, lighting up the dark crevices of my mind, clawing at the scabs on the wounds of the past, tearing them open again. How does he manage to do that with single a glance, a blush? Why do I remember him if I do not know him?

I stop pacing around my room. What use is it? I have already made up my mind, I am already flushed with the heat of my want. The dark corridors greet me silently as I make my way towards him. I think about the way he obeyed my every whim earlier, how he moaned with pleasure at every blow of my hand. How could that be anything but real? But I know better. He is seasoned. He has had practice. He has known other hands, other men. He knows what I want. He is merely giving me what I have paid for. But the way his cheeks shone as I touched him…

Pushing aside such doubts, such distracting, groundless emotions, I focus on my urges. I think of how his back muscles glisten with sweat as I bend him over and have my way with him, the touch of his tongue on my manhood, the way he loses control as soon as I touch him, bucking and moaning with abandon, so completely lost. How much of that is playacting? How much is real? What does it matter as long as it does what it is supposed to? This house, with its ghosts and its cruel history is not meant for love.

 _Love._ I swore I would never even think of that word after Rin. I thought I was done with it. Why now? Why him? Why does a whore make me think of love? Is that how pathetic I am? No, not whore. His name is Makoto...

I can see a strip of yellow light shining through his door. He’s awake. I want to hurt him more for making me feel this way, for making me want him this way.

The sight that awaits me in the room is surprising to say the least. Makoto is hunched over in his bed, close to the candlelight, darning socks. Two small boys, the same boys from this morning, are sprawled on the bed next to him, holding hands even as they sleep. He doesn’t notice me come in. I should turn back now, turn back before I lose myself even further…

“M-my lord?” It is too late. It was always too late.

“Yes, uh, I did not expect you would have company tonight.”

“If you need me, I can…”

“No that is not necessary. Why are these boys here?”

“Oh Takano said you said it was okay if they stayed here and worked?”

“I know that. I meant why in your room?”

His face relaxes. He puts away his needle. 

“They were afraid. They kept saying this place is haunted. Nagisa, the smaller one, started crying. I tried to calm him and gave them both warm milk, but he wouldn’t stop. I’ve read warm milk soothes distressed children. I don’t know why it didn’t work. And their socks have so many holes so…”

Books and warm milk, stories and socks. And such enduring warmth. He glows, he shines in the dark like a beacon, brighter than the full moon. How can I help myself?

He talks on and on, thoughtlessly, looking flustered at my presence. Even in the dim glow of the candlelight, I can see his cheeks flushed pink. I should leave, I know.

I walk over to him and sit down next to him on the bed.

“They’re probably right about the house being haunted Makoto.” I lean in close to his ear, whispering. I convince myself it is because I do not want to wake the sleeping children, but I know that is not true. This close to him, I can feel his body tremble at the sound of my voice, I can see his blush deepen, I can feel the heat coming off of him.

“W-what do you mean? You don’t believe in ghosts, my lord? Surely not?”

“Did they tell you about the creaking floorboards though no one walks the house so late at night? The low voices in the air, fading before you can quite catch the words? A feeling as if someone was standing right behind them, and if they turned, they would witness something they wish they hadn’t…” I let my voice trail off in a low whisper. Unconsciously, he gathers himself up in his arms, still clutching a sock, and moves closer to me.

“H-how did you know?”

“Because everyone who lives here knows that. This is how the house reveals itself to us. The story is a sad one. Would you like to hear it?”

He turns towards me, eyes wide, so beautifully green with the flickering flame of the candles by his bedside reflected in their depths, his lips slightly parted, perfect as petals. His nods once, still looking at me.

I lean closer, dangerously close. My breath is on his face, our lips are almost…

“A hundred years ago, one of my ancestors was sent here. He wasn’t particularly bad, no comparison to the worst of us, really. A fourth son, so they say, and a gambler to boot. He was sent here alone, with no one but a handful of watchful servants. And one day, a girl from the village was hired as a kitchen maid. Sweet and lovely as the sunrise, fresh and innocent as a rosebud. No one knows how he saw her first, or when. But they fell in love. He seduced her, talked her into bed with honey words and lingering looks. Who knows how long they made each other happy? But everyone knows it did not last.”

He is gripping the sleeve of my robe with his fingers, caught up in the morbid tale, as if I can save him from the tragedy that awaits at the end of its telling.

“A night spent in the village on his own, one too many glasses of mead at the tavern, and the ill-fated man lost what he held most dear. He gambled her away. Just like that. Someone told her, another servant maybe. And when the other man came to claim his prize, she took her own life rather than part from her lover. Crept down to the dungeon with a little vial of poison, procured from a witch in the woods, I suppose. He changed his mind though, but it was already too late. He could not part from her. So he managed to convince the other man to depart with some valuables instead of his beloved. But no one could find her. They looked and looked. For days. A footman finally followed the foul smell down the stairs, into the creeping darkness where she lay, half decayed. It was much too late for her traitorous lover to do anything but follow her into the grave. And so he did. But she could not forgive him, even in death. So they linger in the castle still. him asking for her forgiveness. When the moon is full, they leave the subterranean roots of the castle and walk its halls, knocking softly on bedroom door. They will haunt the castle unless someone can reverse their fate, it is said.”

He is so close to me I can feel him shivering. His fingers entwine themselves in the fabric of my sleeve.

“That’s horrid, my lord. Horrid. How could he do that to her?”

“We are a cruel clan, Makoto.”

“Y-you wouldn’t. Not to someone you loved. You wouldn’t.”

How can he be anything but earnest with such conviction in his voice? How can he not mean it, the way he fixes his eyes on my face, tears slowly carving a path down his beautiful face?

“I would have to fall in love first, Makoto. I do not think I can.”

“Oh.” How can I imagine such hurt in his voice? How can it be anything but real?

He slowly turns his face away from me to hide his tears. I know I have hurt him with my words. It is for the best.

“My lord? Why have I not heard them yet? I have been here long enough. You said everyone hears them…”

“Oh, they do. But only people who belong in the castle. They do not make themselves known to outsiders…” The words fall out of my mouth, one by one, like daggers. He lets go of my robe. His whole body goes rigid before my eyes.

“I see.”

“I mean…”

“Goodnight, my lord. I-I'm tired now. Please…”

His voice sounds like nothing- hollow, broken.

I should put my arms around him. I should turn his face to mine, wipe his tears. I should kiss him. I should tell him he belongs with me, always. I should…

“Right. I did not mean to scare you. Sorry.”

The story is as old as time itself. There are so many stories lurking in the dark corners of this place. The little boys were probably woken by the chattering stewards putting out the fires before they went to bed. I just wanted to frighten him, to have him cling to me...

Then why did I say those things to Makoto?

I suddenly realize he probably has not heard the creaking and whispering because he spends his nights with me. He is the last to sleep in the house. Or he is too busy in his books to listen. 

Why do I keep hurting him? How long before I can crack the mask of his pretense and see what lurks underneath? How far can I push him before he breaks? 

 


	8. Dark Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto realizes a bitter, dark truth about his relationship with Lord Sousuke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I have to be at work in a few hours, this chapter basically demanded that I write it out tonight. It's miserably painful, and I'm sorry.

I want to scream, but I will wake the children. I run out of the room after he leaves, down the stairs and out into the night. Everything is bathed in the silvery light of the full moon, everything is haunted by an otherworldly beauty. The stream sparkles in the distance, so inviting. As if sleepwalking, I make my way towards it. I keep hearing his words over and over again. I cannot bear it anymore. He pulls me close with one hand, and pushes me away with the other. No one could bear such agony.

“Makoto?” The voice is scared, a little high-pitched.

I whip around, fearing to encounter one of the ghosts that haunt these damned grounds. Right now, I’d willingly follow any dreaded monstrosity straight to hell. But it’s only Rei. He must have followed me. He must have been awake. For how long, though?

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold. Go back inside.” My voice is hoarse. If I say another word I’ll start screaming.

Instead of leaving, he comes closer and grabs a hold of my hand, tugging at it, quietly leading me back inside.

“That was just a story, you know, Makoto. What Lord Sousuke told you. Nagisa gets scared easily, and sometimes it’s fun to play along, so I went with it. All we heard was some of the servants. It’s not real.”

I ruffle his hair and try to offer a smile.

I already know that. That’s why it hurts so much, that it isn’t true, that he made it up. Just to remind me of who I am. As if I don’t already have that twisting like a knife inside me every time I take a breath.

After Rei goes back to sleep, still holding my hand, I lapse into a shallow slumber. The candles splutter out, wax pouring over the edge of the table, congealing like colorless blood.

My dreams are sickening, dark, bloody. Faceless claws grab at me as I lay defenseless, naked, unable to move a muscle. My skin is ripped to shreds by razor sharp nails, and I can feel everything, every stab of pain. I don’t know when I start screaming but when I come to, Takano is leaning over me, his face pale and frightened. I’m completed entangled in my sheets, covered in sweat, my heart beating so fast I feel like it will jump right out of me.

“Are you alright, Makoto?” Takano helps me sit up and holds a glass of water against my parched lips. It’s still dark outside, and fresh candles are lit by my bedside. Rei and Nagisa are huddled close together next to me, staring at me with pale faces and rounded eyes. One of the maids, I think her name is Aya, is standing at the door looking terrified.

“We thought you were being murdered.” She cautiously approaches the bed and holds out a towel to Takano.

“W-what happened?” I already know the answer. The other residents of the brothel used to hate my guts because of all the screaming I did. We slept during the day mostly, and I would wake up at least twice, shouting bloody murder, waking everyone else. No customer would want to spend the night with me either. A few tried and left. My reputation spread, and I would only be bought by those who were looking to take out their frustrations instead of those seeking a warm body for the night. It only made my condition worse. Eventually, I’d have to be dosed with very strong liquor before bed so I would not disrupt the others’ sleep.

I thought I’d put this behind me after coming here. It seems I have not.  

“You were having a nightmare. It’s okay now.” Takano wipes my forehead with the towel. “And it looks like you have a fever.” He places a hand against my face, clucking his tongue like a worried mother. I try to remember my mother, I try to think of a time she was next to me, her comforting warmth making me feel safe, but there’s nothing- not a single memory comes to mind. My past is a mess of dark alleys and corrosive pain.

“I’m sorry if I scared you two.” I’m more concerned about the two boys who had to suffer through my night terrors than I am about my fever. I feel like I’m looking at myself 6 years ago. Before I was tainted.

“It’s okay. We weren’t scared. We were worried. Rei got Mr. Takano right away, because we couldn’t wake you up.” Nagisa moves up closer to me and soothingly places a small, warm hand on my cheek.

The way he looks at me, the innocent gaze cuts through me, and I break down completely, sobbing like I’m 13 again.

“What is this commotion?” Lord Sousuke is at the door again, peering in, his brow contracted in worry. Or is it anger?

“Makoto here was having a nightmare, young lord. That’s all. It’s fine now.”

He just stands at the door staring at me for a moment.

“Please make sure that the shouting does not wake up the entire household again, Takano.” Just like that, he’s gone again. As he leaves, he takes something of mine with him, something I don’t think I can ever replace.

The pain fades into a cold numbness. Just like it did after my mother died, after the dark alleys and the tears and the stale bits of bread. When the winter of my thirteenth year ended, I found myself unable to cry, to feel anything.

I had been so utterly stupid to think I could discard that armour ever again, just by letting him fuck me. It falls back into place all of a sudden. It does not matter what it is I felt for him when I was still able to understand love, to experience it. That’s not how things stand anymore.

If all goes well, if somehow, miraculously, he does not bore of me just yet, at best I have 3 or 4 months left. Then this will end, I will leave this bright little room, I will leave Rei and Nagisa and Takano. After Lord Sousuke is done using me, I will be returned to that narrow, dark place, to be used by others like him. He is one of them. His hands are among those that have left me raw and bleeding everywhere. I was a fool to think anything else. 


	9. Fever Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto is ravaged by a fever and his weakened state elicits an unexpectedly warm reaction from those around him. A new face appears. What does his arrival mean for Makoto?

As Takano suspected, the fever takes hold of me, and I’m trapped in its haze for a week. I drift in and out of consciousness, my body burning as if it’s on fire, unable to keep anything down.

I am fed sugary liquids from time to time to keep me alive. I cannot tell when I’m awake or asleep. When I see Takano or one of the boys hovering over me through the veil of sickness consuming me, I assume I’m awake. When it’s Lord Sousuke dark countenance that I open my eyes to, it must be when I'm in a dream. I hear worried whispers all around me, I feel concerned caresses on my forehead.

And then there are the nightmares. The same faceless, graceless chaos of detached monstrous limbs invading every part of my body, leaving me screaming and bloody.

On one such night, I feel a strong pair of arms holding me tightly to keep me from thrashing around. A soothing, hoarse voice says my name over and over again until I stop screaming. Before I go back to sleep, I feel a soft kiss on my forehead, and a few murmured words that I don’t understand.

I cannot recall how much time has passed when I finally wake up one morning with a cool forehead and steady breathing. There is a chair next to my bed which was never there before. Takano must have been staying with me, watching over me. I try to sit up in bed but my body does not have any strength left. I collapse right back, every muscle aching. Something small and warm, like a kitten, moves next to me.

“Mako? Are you awake? Are you okay?” It has to be Nagisa. No one has ever called me Mako before.

“I-I’m okay.” I turn my head to look at him. His face is peering out from under a nest of blankets, smiling.

“Oh good! We were so worried! I’m glad it was my turn to stay with you last night! I knew you’d wake up! You didn’t even have any bad dreams!” He gleefully throws his arms around me. My arms are too weak to hug him back. I can only pat his back weakly once or twice before my strength gives out.

“Can you please get someone to bring me some water, Nagisa?” My throat is dry as a desert, and my lips are painfully chapped.

“Oh, right! I’m supposed to tell Takano and Lord Sousuke right away when you wake up! And Rei! I’ll go get them!” His words send an alarm bell in my head, though my mind is still too dazed to understand why.

And then it all comes flooding back…

I remember what I decided in the slightly more lucid moments of my fever. I must go back. I must terminate this contract. It is time for me to face the truth. There is no salvation for the likes of me.

“Makoto! Oh thank goodness!” Takano runs to my side and hugs me awkwardly.

“Water please.” That is all I can say to him. I will not cry anymore. I will not get used to this warmth, this comfort. I will not believe that anyone cares for me. 

Rei and Nagisa come bounding into the room as Takano props me up, helping me sit upright using every pillow on the bed, and holds a glass of water to my mouth. As I swallow the water, I become aware of how hollow my stomach feels and I almost groan in agony.

“Did you tell the young lord, Nagisa? Has he sent for the physician yet?” Takano feels my forehead and makes a concerned face.

“Yes sir. He has been informed, and he sent word out right away. And I told the cook to send up the required items as you instructed.” It is Rei who answers Takano, his voice so forcibly mature that it makes me smile despite my circumstances.

“That’s better, Mako! Would you like me to bring you a book? Or some flowers? Or cream puffs? And tea! We can all have tea with you today!” Nagisa jumps up onto me happily.

“No there shall be no such agitation around Makoto for a few days yet. Not until Dr. Sasabe gives his permission. This young man needs to rest for a good while and recover properly.” Takano is smiling at Nagisa, failing utterly at sounding like his usual authoritative self.

Why is he behaving like this? Doesn’t this mean I will be unable to perform my duties? That I’m a useless product now? Why all this fuss? I do not want this. I do not want any of this at all. I do not…

“Well, well Tachibana. You gave us all quite a fright.” Dr. Sasabe comes in with one of the stewards holding his case. And right behind him is Lord Sousuke, his eyes fixed on my face. I cannot stand it. I cannot stand him. I cannot bear being in the same room as him. I cannot let myself feel all the ridiculous, twisted emotions that well up my chest and clog my breath at the sight of him. I want to be numb, I want to grow cold again. I thought I had…

“I would like you all to wait outside while I examine my patient please. Except you Mr. Takano, of course.” Dr. Sasabe waves a hand, and the boys flit outside immediately, promising to bring me back a present for getting better.

“And you, my lord, please.” Lord Sousuke is still standing in the room, looking determinedly at me. I meet his gaze for a second and look away again. It hurts too much. I hate myself even more than usual for being so weak around him. 

“I just need to talk to Makoto for a little while. Please. Before I have to leave.” His voice sounds so soft, so pleading. Did he say he has to leave? Where does he need to go? Why? Shouldn’t he be sending me away instead?

“Then talk while I examine him, please. Takano, please help me remove his shirt.” Dr. Sasabe sounds irritated, even angry, but he cannot continue defying Lord Sousuke.

“Wait, I’ll do that.” Before I can stop him, he’s sitting beside me on the bed, undoing my buttons with strong, deft fingers.

“No, you will not.” Seeing the agitated look on my face, Takano slaps Lord Sousuke's hand away. I will not cry. I will not feel the warmth flooding my body at his nearness. I will not let my heartbeat race. I will not…

“My lord, really. Say your piece, and be on your way. You are disconcerting my patient.” Dr. Sasabe sits back and crosses his arms, clearly furious.

“Right. Fine. Sorry. I just. Well I have to go away for a month on my father's behest. Before I left, I just wanted to tell you that everything will be okay. And that…and that I am sorry for the things I said. I did not mean them. Please find it in your heart to forgive me, Makoto. I am so glad you are better now. Let everyone take care of you until I return.” He blurts the words out so fast, it’s obvious he has been practicing them for days. His right hand reaches out to grip mine and squeeze it before he gets up to leave.

“Have a good trip, young lord.” Takano is apparently just as shocked at hearing these words as I am. But I cannot bear to accept what he has told me, I cannot bear to look at his face. I keep my gaze lowered, fighting the urge to cry, to cling to him, to beg him not to go away, to not leave me, to never let go of my hand…

“Right. Goodbye then. And thank you for your help with this ordeal, Dr. Sasabe. We have taken up so much of your time. You have my eternal gratitude.” How does his speech suddenly have all this grace? What does he mean by "we"? I was the one who wasted everyone's time and energy. Why does he show me this side, speaking such sweet words, every single time I try to shut him out? It is cruel and unfair. 

“Err…Yes, you are welcome, my lord. Lucky for me, I have my nephew helping me out. He is a medical student in training, and has agreed to take over some of my responsibilities. In fact, he is on his way right now with some supplies I need.” Dr. Sasabe is gazing at Lord Sousuke as if he has never seen him before.

Right on cue, one of the stewards opens the door to announce the arrival of Dr. Sasabe’s nephew. The boy that walks into the room cannot be much older than me. He has straight black hair and striking blue eyes the color of the sea.

“Hello. I’m Haruka. At your service my lord, sirs.” His voice is cold, but polite. He bows around the room, and moves quickly to his uncle’s side, carrying a small wooden box, and places it next to my bed.

“Right, well, we were just talking about you Haru, my boy. Say hello to your patient, Makoto.” The boy looks at me without smiling, nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I must take your temperature, Makoto. If you will please lift your left arm. He takes out a glass instrument with numbers marked along its side, filled with a silvery liquid, and gently places it in my armpit, taking a hold of my hand and lowering my arm to hold it in place. His touches are measured but gentle. I find myself smiling at him.

“Isn’t it time for you to leave, my lord?” Takano raises his eyebrows at Lord Sousuke, who is still standing in the room, frowning at Haruka.

“Hmm? What? Yes, right. Please come with me Takano. I must speak to you about something before I leave.” The softness leaves his voice, and he sounds abrupt and angry again. “Remember Makoto, as soon as you are well, you will be expected to return to your duties.”

As soon as the door shuts behind Lord Sousuke and Takano, Dr. Sasabe sighs in relief. "Finally, I am allowed to do my job properly."

“He is a brute uncle. How can you bear him?” Haruka sounds irritated. His stoic expression has shifted to one depicting sullenness.

“His bark is worse than his bite, Haru my boy. Isn’t that so, Makoto?”

I cannot find the words to reply to Dr. Sasabe.

Why does he still want me? What does he want from me? His face changes like sunlight reflected on the rippling surface of a stream. His eyes darken and light up, days following night in a single blink. They cling to my skin like my own sweat even after he is gone. His fingers burn on my hips even now. Though no one can see the brand, he has already marked me as his property. 

If I am honest with myself, I want him to stay. Love or hate. Lust or indifference. I want him by my side. Always.

Even now, I am counting the seconds until I am better again. Until he returns to me. Until I can offer myself up to him again. 


	10. A Friend and a Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Lord Sousuke's absence, Makoto learns some unexpected things about his situation in the Yamazaki household, and finds a friend.  
> However, darkness looms ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Trigger Warning: Please be warned that this chapter contains an attempted rape scene.

It’s been a week since he went away. It’s been so peaceful since he left. Nagisa and Rei spend more time with me every day. We have tea together every evening in my room, and a few times Takano has joined us too. He likes to watch us being happy, I think. I wonder why he doesn’t mind taking us all in like we’re stray cats looking for the warmth of a good home. There is more kindness in him than I initially perceived. 

The day Lord Sousuke left, Takano came to see me. I still have trouble believing what he told me, but the piece of parchment he showed me cannot be a lie.

Through Takano, I found out something I never knew before. That Lord Sousuke’s mother had intended to keep me in the castle even after my mother’s disgraceful dismissal. She felt that my mother's mistake should not reduce me to poverty and homelessness, and even offered to keep my mother provided for discretely in a small cottage on the estate. But my mother rejected the proposal and took me with her. The pride of a spurned lover, I suppose? I still do not know who it was that used her so badly that she felt like she couldn't live anymore.

Takano told me they he looked and looked for me, but after my mother’s death, I just disappeared. Takano finally managed to find the brothel I worked at. Someone from the estate recognized me because of the color of my eyes and demeanour apparently, and followed me back there from a bookshop I frequented. He told Lady Yamazaki, and she wrote to Takano, who made the necessary arrangements to bring me here.

Takano told me I was not here on a temporary contract. I had been bought by the Yamazakis. I do not have to go back to the brothel. Lady Yamazaki remembered me from before, and felt that if her son had to have a male lover, it might as well be someone she knew to be submissive and gentle, someone her son could have complete control over.

Even though I've been bought like a piece of property, I cannot help but feel relieved that I do not have to go back to that dark hellish nightmare.

I can stay here forever.

Takano told me even if Lord Sousuke tires of me, I will be given other duties. Maybe even moved to the main Yamazaki estate if I’m unwanted here.

But I do not have to go back there.

I still cannot bring myself to accept that. How can I be free of that place?

But I’m not free…

 _He_ owns me. The contract bears his name as my owner- his mother and Takano made sure of that. Only, he doesn’t know it. And Takano tells me not to reveal this secret to him. I don’t ask him for his reasons. I know them well enough. Someone like Lord Sousuke would get bored of his possessions that much quicker if he knew he was stuck with them for good.

But then why did he tell me I didn’t have to go? He doesn’t know about this piece of paper…

Does he mean to keep me? Has he grown fond of me? Used to my presence? It must be convenient to have someone like me around. No matter how hard he pushes me away, I come crawling back, wagging my tail, every time he so much as glances in my direction.

I try not to dwell on these thoughts. And my present company keeps me busy enough. I have another frequent visitor nowadays too. Haruka, who hates being called Haruka, and wants me to call him Haru. He seemed so cold and dismissive at first, but on his second visit he brought a box of sweets for Nagisa and Rei. And a collection of poetry for me, beautifully leather bound, with my name inscribed on the first page. It’s the first time anyone has given me a book. It’s the first time anyone has given me anything.

He doesn’t talk much, but he listens to us blabbing on about silly things over cups of cherry blossom tea and pastries, smiling kindly. His blue eyes turn as warm as a sunlit sea when he smiles like that.

He is also the first person to ask me about the source of my nightmares. One evening, after Nagisa and Rei had scampered off to play outside, Haru broached the subject with me. I still do not understand what it is about him, but he makes me feels safe.

He stayed with me until late that night while I mumbled out my entire history, my darkest secrets to him. He stayed with me while I cried myself to sleep.

When he came to see the next evening, I didn’t feel ashamed about exposing myself to him like that. I didn’t feel strange that he knew everything about me. It felt comforting that someone could see me inside and out, and still be my friend, still care for me. The boys have warmed up towards him significantly, and Nagisa even brought him a small bouquet of wild bluebells to thank him for making me happy. Takano is also partial to him, and likes listening to Haru talk about his days in college.

The days pass slowly and leisurely. Everything is gentle and pleasantly secure around me.

Lord Sousuke is still away.

Two weeks go by without him. Then three. Then four.

Takano wonders aloud why he isn’t back yet, but it’s no cause for concern apparently. He has not been back home in years. There must be people to see, things to do. I cannot help but wonder if Lord Matsuoka is one of those people...

It’s been a month since I’ve been close to him. His touch is a dull memory branded into the back of mind, always there, burning my skin as I lapse into sleep at night. I catch myself thinking of him when I’m on my own- indecently, obscenely. The desire for his kindness, his cruelty still washes over me so completely, so unexpectedly, that I lose my head.

Since Nagisa and Rei have taken to sleeping in my room at night, I have no safe place to deal with the intense lust for him building up inside me. It’s been more than a month since I’ve been with him.

One evening, walking on my own through the woods, overwhelmed by memories of being with him, I become foolish. Huddled up against a tree, I pull my pants down, one hand stroking and tugging, a finger probing my entrance as I moan his name…

It was never safe to do something like this outside. I should have known. I should have been more careful. But being away from him for so long, I no longer had any control over my urges…

“Well, well, if it isn’t my lord’s little whore, all by himself in the woods.”

It’s Handa’s voice, coarse and cruel.

Before I can do anything to protect myself, before I can run away, he grabs me by the arms. I am covered in my own cum, breathless, and completely defenseless.

“Looks like my lord is already bored with you, eh? He won’t mind it if I use you up a bit, will he?” He roughly pulls my pants all the way down, so they're tangled around my feet, and bends me over. I am terrified, I am helpless. I am unable to make a sound, unable to move a muscle.

I can feel his hardness against me, pushing up roughly, trying to find a way in. I cannot even scream. This is what I have conditioned myself to do. To be quiet, motionless, and pretend to be somewhere else…

I used pretend I was with _him_ …

As strange hands probed my body, hurting it and using it, I used to think of his face, his eyes, his warm hands ruffling my hair. I used to go back to the meadow where I picked flowers for him, to make him happy.

But now, there’s only darkness. I feel like I will be sick if this keeps happening. I cannot block it out. Everything is so hideously real. So sickening.

I brace myself for the inevitable pain.

“If I were you, I would back away right now, you disgusting animal.” The cold and calm voice sounds so familiar, but given my panicked state of mind, I cannot place it immediately.

Handa’s hands let go of me as he pulls up his pants and turns around to face the intruder. Unsupported, I fall down, drowning in darkness, fighting to stay conscious, trying to cover myself up.

The last thing I see is a shock of black hair and a pair of blue eyes looking over me, full of concern and unquestioning warmth.


	11. Memories and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Sousuke takes his time away from home to rethink his feelings, and to unravel the confused mess of his past. What will he find when he returns home, hoping for a new start?
> 
> This chapter is from Sousuke's POV.

“Well now, Sousuke, I want to hear everything about you since we have been apart. You were so busy with the wedding, I did not get a chance to speak with you at all.” My mother is her usual charming self, clad in a deep green velvet dress and an assortment of jewels.

“Hmm let’s see. I was exiled from my childhood home and left to rot in a corner of my exalted father’s vast property by myself.” I do not want to be here anymore. It has been more than a month already, pretending to be fine, pretending to like the parade of assholes and hypocrites that I have had to smile at and greet. The air here is stifling; the memories populating every corner of this house are putrid, stinking of misery.

“Oh now, there really is no need to be so dramatic. You had Takano with you, didn’t you my love?” She nibbles on a frosted cake as delicately as a cat would. I can never stay angry at her, especially when I know she did everything she could to stop my father from disinheriting me altogether, from beating me to death with his bare hands all those years ago, when he first caught me with another boy…

“Well, I came here, as you requested. I was a good boy. I attended the wedding. And now that it is all over, I will go back to my hidey hole. Was that satisfactory, mother dear?” I pick up a small cake with pastel green icing from the plate and fiddle with it.

“Yes it was. I am proud of how much you have grown, Sou. Takano tells me you’re taking an active hand in managing your property lately as well? But I had to have you all to myself for a day at least before you head back to your responsibilities. Will you be fine, though? After, you know…” Her concern for me is genuine, and I feel myself smiling at her.

“Yes, mother. I will be quite alright. It has been years now. He is not the only one who moved on. Well, not that he had anything to move on from. It was always one-sided.” Rin is finally married, and that is why I am visiting my old home after so long, to fulfill his request to be his best man. After what happened between the two of us, I was surprised when he wrote to me a few months ago. At first I had refused completely. It was cruel to ask me to stand by and watch my first love- the man I considered the love of my life- tie himself to someone else. It was unthinkable.

But things are not the same anymore, however hard I try to pretend otherwise. I am actually pleased for Rin. He had always loved the girl he just married. He used to talk about her all the time when we were growing up. A lovely thing with silvery curls and pale blue eyes. How I hated her when we were younger. How I wished calamities on her unsuspecting being- everything from a lightning strike to the plague- wishing her away from Rin so I could comfort him instead. Still, meeting her again, arm in arm with Rin, I felt myself soften at her happiness, at both of their shared joy.

Rin looked worried at first, a bit agitated, seeing me after all the unpleasantness between us, but we talked about everything before his wedding. When I told him I no longer felt anything but the truest friendship for him, I meant it. I surprised myself more than I surprised him with those words.

He told me I looked happier than he had ever seen me before.

I think he is right.

All because of a pair of sweet green eyes, bright as a sunlit forest. I cannot wait to go back. I cannot wait to have him by my side again. If I said I was not in love with him, I would be lying. I love Makoto. So much that he fills my entire being with warmth every single time I find myself thinking about him. And I think about him quite frequently.

I no longer care if Makoto loves me back or not. I will keep him with me whatever it takes. He is mine. If anyone else so much as lays a finger on him, their life is forfeit. He is mine.

“And how is that new page working out for you?” I am suddenly brought back to present, away from the image of his smile, the way he blushes when we’re alone together…

“Uh…he’s fine…since when are you so interested in my pages?” My mother is smiling knowingly. Exactly what has Takano told her about Makoto?

“Since you were caught in bed with one when you were 15.” Her eyes reflect the pain of that memory. It was my father who found me, fumbling around with a servant boy my age, trying to figure out why the thought of being with girls did not attract me as much as it did my friends. Trying to understand why the sight of Rin set my heart racing instead of the many beautiful girls my father tried to force me to dance with at balls. He had almost strangled me to death then and there. If it had not been for mother, if it had not been for Takano’s timely intervention, both I and that poor boy would be dead.

“What has Takano told you?” I take a bite of the cake, thinking if this taste resembles the honey of Makoto’s pale pink lips. Something I have denied myself, until now…

“You don’t remember him at all, do you? It took us years to find that boy.”

What is she talking about? Why should I remember him?

Yet it is true that I have caught myself caught up in a misplaced sense of nostalgia when he is around me. I have always felt like Makoto was so much more to me than he appeared.

As my mother unravels his strange, tragic history before me, everything falls into place.

Of course I remember the boy with the sparkling green eyes. I remember his flowers, though I never thanked him for them. I remember holding him on the night Rin abandoned me. I remember…

Why did I not see him for who he was right away? Why did he not say anything? Why didn’t Takano say anything?

My mother is saying such improbable things. A contract of ownership with my name on it, and his. Making him mine forever.

“You…you set this up?” I am baffled by her words. How can she be fine with this?

“Well, is it not a mother's responsibility to help find a suitable life partner for her favorite child?” She looks calm, amused almost, smiling warmly at my confusion.

“You…you mean…you want me to stay with him? That you find it acceptable if I were to spend the rest of my life in the arms of another man?”

“Does he make you happy, Sousuke?”

“Y-yes. He does. He makes me very happy.”

“And he was always so very much in love with you. I thought it would be perfect. I just wish we had found him earlier, before all that misery he had to endure. Does that bother you? If so, you have no obligation to keep him. I can think of so many other uses for him.”

“No. It does not bother me. I want…I want to keep him with me. He is my responsibility now.”

“Well then. I am glad to hear that, I suppose. But be careful with him. Too much all at once, and he might just tear apart.” She does not have to explain what she means. I already know that. I am already guilty of that.

“I know.” My shame must show through those words, but she pretends not to notice.

“Oh, and I hear you adopted two orphans from the village? A complete family, huh? And here I was, worried you would drink yourself to an early death, cold and alone.”

“I thought that too, to be quite honest.”

“I have some presents for everyone. Be sure to take them before you go.”

I have bought presents too. I ended up telling Rin about Makoto. I felt like I owed him that much, after straining our friendship by my one-sided feelings, to put him at ease. Rin helped me pick out a few books for Makoto, since I am not much of a reader, and had no idea what to get him.

In the end, I have to take an extra carriage back with me, because of the excessive amount of things my mother has supplied for Makoto, Nagisa, and Rei. She threatens to visit sometime soon in the future, now that she no longer has to fear coming upon me face down in a pool of wine, dead and gone.

On the journey home, I cannot help looking forward to seeing everyone. I want to be alone with Makoto again. It has been so long. I wonder if he missed me. Or if that Haruka boy kept him company…

I told Takano to keep them away from each other. For some reason, I could not bear to see that sullen boy anywhere near Makoto. I hated the way Makoto smiled at him. But of course, all I got from Takano was a scolding. I deserved it, he told me, for the way I had been treating Makoto. And I do. And yet...

Once he is back in my bed, I will remind him of his priorities, Haruka or no Haruka.

I long to kiss him. I wonder what his mouth tastes like. The rest of the journey, I spend half asleep, drifting in and out of daydreams too intimate for words...

The long drive has cramped my legs. Before we arrive home, I ask the coachman to drop me off by the path that leads through the woods. I want to compose myself a little before I see him again.

Night is almost falling, and the wind is softly cold. As I wander deep into the woods, taking my time, thinking of the things I need to say to Makoto, I hear strange voices ahead of me. Shouting, screaming, so unfitting in this place of tranquility…

Someone is shouting Makoto’s name.

Without thinking, I run forward.

I can see Haruka shoving Handa away from an unconscious figure on the forest floor. Even for someone with a slight built, Haruka is stronger than he looks.

But I cannot seem to focus on anything but the unmoving shape in front of me. Nothing looks right. Why is he like that? Why does he have bruises on his face? Why are his clothes all disheveled, his body exposed like that?

I cannot bring myself to accept the truth of what I see before me.

I should have listened to Takano and dismissed Handa after the incident with the boys. I should have been paying more attention to my own household, my responsibilities.

Pushing Haruka out of the way, I find myself grabbing Handa by the collar, hitting him over and over and over until he falls to the ground and there is blood everywhere.

A pair of hands pushes me away, shakes me, shouting my name.

“Lord Sousuke! Please! You need to take Makoto back inside! Leave this to me. Go inside, and let Takano know what happened. I cannot carry him by myself. You need to take Makoto home.”

I bend over him, his eyes are closed. I wrap him carefully in my coat, covering him up. As I pick up his limp form in my arms, he mumbles something.

“H-Haru…help me…”

The words are like a dagger through my chest.

But what did I expect? After all, I’m one of the ones that have hurt him. Why would he call out for me to save him?

I have to take responsibility for everything I have done to him. He might be in love with me, he might moan out my name when we fuck, but I do not have his trust.

I will have to earn it. I will do everything in my power to earn it.


	12. Retribution and Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke evaluates the situation upon his return. An unpleasant exchange with Haruka makes Sousuke confront his own dark side.   
> This is another Sousuke POV chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update took a lot longer than I thought it would.  
> Hope you enjoy it.  
> The support for this fic has been so overwhelming. Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts, you're all wonderful.

He is so pale, his breathing is so irregular. In my arms, he feels motionless, weightless- it feels as if I am trying to hold onto a wisp of smoke, distant and fragile.

“My Lord, welc-…What has happened to him?” Takano’s look of delight at seeing me home suddenly turns to one of horror and uncertainty when he sees Makoto.

“Handa. Haruka saved him. I-I do not know what happened exactly. I did not get there in time…I need to take him to his room. Tell one of the stewards to fetch the doctor. Then take a couple of your trusted men out to the woods. Close to the stream. Take Handa to the dungeons. I will personally deal with that despicable criminal.”

“Th-the boys are in his room. It would not be appropriate for them to see him like this I think.” Takano has always been quick to assess the finer points of any situation, no matter how startling or bleak. 

“I will take him to my room then. Make sure no one comes in except the doctor or yourself, please. Thank you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Apprehension at seeing Makoto limp in my arms quickly turns to anger on Takano’s face, and he hurries away without questioning any of my orders. Something I am thankful for. I fully intend to punish the culprit and I would prefer if Takano does not interfere. I am not a good man when it comes down to it. What is mine cannot be taken by anyone else. My wrath knows no bounds once unleashed. 

As I place him on my bed, and remove my coat from him, he whimpers- exposed and shivering. He is still unconscious. His shirt is torn and his pants are tangled around his knees. His groin and his stomach…

I wonder how far it went before Haruka found them.

I need to know. I need to know before I seek retribution. I need to know how badly he has been hurt so I can collect that pain from Handa tenfold. I must know…

The best thing to do is undress him for the time being. His elbows and knees are scraped, his face is bruised and swollen. After removing his clothes, I clean him up with a wet cloth, wiping down his lean, hard form. He looks much tougher than he is, but somehow, every time I have held him in my arms, he has felt like something delicate, breakable, beautiful.

And I left him here, without my protection. I will never leave him again…

The sight of his naked body- that has always stirred a passion within me that almost transgresses normal desire, that has made me want to possess him at any and every cost- it makes me want to cry now. I want to cradle him against my body like a lost child until I can take away every instance of pain from him, until I can wipe him clean of every bad memory, and return him to the boy he was years ago- the boy who left hyacinths and roses in my room to make me happy. I want to erase all the hurt from his past, but I cannot. And that breaks my heart. For his sake. If I could give myself up to an eternity of anguish just to return his innocence to him, I would do it. Without a question, I would die for him. I would most certainly kill for him. 

As I cover him up with a blanket, he groans and huddles up, hugging himself tightly. How can I help but caress his feverish forehead, put my arms around him? At my closeness, his body relaxes, moves in closer to me. Slowly his eyelids flicker, and those green orbs of unadulterated light are looking up at me.

At first he does not seem to understand where he is, who he is with. I lean away from him a little, still holding him, as he looks at my face, trying to make sense of things.

“Wh-where am I?”

“With me. Safe.”

“Am I awake?”

“Yes, Makoto.”

“What happened? I was in the woods and you were away and I was…and then…” He suddenly sits up, breaking free of my embrace, his face crumpling up in pain as he remembers.

“You are safe now. That is what matters.”

“I’m filthy. I’m not fit to be near you. Please, I’m…” Silent tears course down his blanched face. He is clutching the blanket so hard, his knuckles are white.

“Makoto…” I draw him close to me again, my arms around his waist, so that his head is resting against my chest. I want every ounce of his pain to leave him and permeate my body instead.

“But he…he…I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He is trembling against me uncontrollably. Why does he think he needs to apologize to me after being hurt himself? Why does he think this is his fault? In my mind, I formulate all the ways in which I will punish Handa for this transgression.

I am not a good man.

“Why are you saying that? You are the one who got hurt, Makoto. You did nothing wrong. I am the one who should be sorry. I was not there for you when you needed me. I should have gotten rid of that man ages go. It is my fault this happened, not yours. Please stop blaming yourself.”

“But if I hadn’t been foolish…I exposed myself, I let him find me, in…in that state…I’m sorry, you were away for so long, I’m sorry…If Haruka had not come to me in time, I don’t know…I’m sorry…”

What does he mean? What is he trying to tell me? Exposed himself?

“What are you saying Makoto? What happened exactly? You need to tell me what he did to you.”

His face still hidden against me, the front of my shirt damp with his tears, he relates the details of the incident to me.

My anger at Handa, at myself, becomes tinged with desire as I hear his words, as out of place as it is at the moment. It is my fault after all. It was his need for me that drove him out there, to the place where he was attacked. It is my fault after all…

Just like that, I am all too aware of his nakedness, his nearness, the heat emanating from him, the time I have been away from him…

I lift his chin up, looking into his eyes. It is not that I have lost sight of my reason. No, I have never been more certain of anything else in my life. As our lips meet, I hear him gasp, I feel his body go stiff.

I will kiss him clean of his burdens, his nightmares. He is mine, only mine, and I will make sure he knows that.

Before I can taste him, before he can respond to me, the door slams open and Takano rushes in followed by Haruka.

Reluctantly, I break the kiss, though my arms are still wrapped around him.

“Ahem. Everything is done as you required, young lord. The doctor need not be disturbed since Haru is already here, and aware of the situation.”

“Right, of course. I will leave you to it, Nanase. I have other matters to take care of.”

Even in the darkening room, I can clearly see Haruka observing me somewhat disdainfully through narrowed, ice blue eyes.

As I ease my grip on Makoto, he tenses up again, refusing to let go.

“P-please stay…” His voice is no louder than a gust of autumn wind, shaking the last leaves of the year off their branches, broken and cold.

“I can examine him with you in the room. It isn’t like you have not seen it all before, right?” Haruka quickly moves across the room and pulls up a chair next to the bed.

“Takano please be so kind as to bring up some warm milk mixed with whiskey and honey for Makoto. It will help him sleep. The physical injuries seem to be no worse than a few scratches. It’s fine, Mako, you’re fine.”

He calls him Mako, as if they have known each other for years. He is too familiar. 

As Haruka lifts the blankets away from Makoto, I feel myself getting angry at him, wanting to push him away. But Makoto’s hand is in mine, and he seems so calm now. I cannot disturb the delicate air of peace in the room without causing him further pain. 

“You cleaned him up already, I see. I just need to disinfect the cuts and scratches then. Nothing serious. All he needs now is some rest and care. Oh and make sure he stays warm during the night.” Haruka is looking at me, stern and serious.

As soon as he is done, Haruka gets up to leave. Takano returns in the meantime, and helps Makoto drink the milk and whiskey concoction.

“Can I speak with you before I leave, Lord Sousuke?” Haruka beckons me as he picks up his bag and coat.

“I will be right back.” Reluctantly, I let go of Makoto’s hand and follow the blue-eyed man outside.

“Well?” I am impatient at being away from Makoto, angry at this man in front of me for being able to save Makoto when I could not.

“What are your intentions toward Makoto?” He sounds serious, determined.

“Are you his father?” I can barely hide my contempt for his presumption- does he think he cares more for Makoto than I do?

“If your only interest in him is limited to the bedroom, I will have to intervene.” He dares speak up to me in this way, without any hesitation. What exactly is his relationship with Makoto?

“This had nothing to do with you, Nanase. What makes you think you can speak to me so openly about my private affairs?”

“He is not very strong, and I doubt you have bothered to find out much about his past. But he is my friend, and if I feel that you are hurting him in any way, I will have to step in. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Has he told you why he is here then? If you two are such good friends?”

“You’ve bought him, haven’t you? And you’re forcing him to service you in bed. Yes I know.”

“I am not forcing him.”

“You pay him to be with you. He is not sleeping with you of his free will, is he? That means you are forcing him.”

“I would never do that to him.”

“I see. Do you care for him then?”

“That is none of your goddamn business, Nanase.”

“Oh it is my business. I am making it my business, _my lord_.”

“Thank you for your services tonight. Next time, please have your uncle attend to Makoto. I will not have you sniffing about him anymore.”

“Hmph. Of course not. What does it matter to you if he likes talking to me? If I am his friend? As long as your needs are satisfied, his wishes are forfeit, are they not?”

“Before you say another word to test me further, I suggest you leave.”

“You are not going to deny it then?”

“There is nothing to deny, Nanase.”

“You are nothing but a coward and bully, Lord Sousuke. But for some reason, Makoto refuses to see that side of you. He is in love with you, you know that right?”

“I…”

“Stay with him tonight. What he just went through, that must have opened past wounds in his memory. Last time he had his nightmares, Takano said you were the only one who could soothe him back to sleep. If that recurs, you should be by his side.”

“You do not need to tell me that.”

“I am not saying any of this for your sake. Be kind to him for a little while at least- even though it must be difficult for someone as brusque and cruel as you.”

Before I can respond, he quickly descends the stairs and leaves.

I am angry that another man has had to tell me how to take care of the person I love. I am angry that Nanase knows more about Makoto than I do. I am angry at the way Makoto has let him in so easily, so quickly.

If I have to, I will put an end to the contact between them.

I am not a good man.

But before it comes to that, I have another matter to take care of. I want to get it out of the way as soon as possible, but it will have to wait. Nanase is right. Makoto needs me to stay with him right now. That takes priority.

When I return to my bedchamber, he is lying back again, softly talking to Takano about something that has him frustrated.

“My lord, Makoto is insistent on returning to his room for the night.”

“Nonsense. He will sleep here until he recovers fully.” How can he be thinking of going back at a time like this?

“But…the terms…you said before I couldn’t…” Makoto can barely meet my gaze as he speaks. 

The broken words leaving his mouth make me hate myself even more than before.

“I do not care about that anymore. What does it matter? I need to keep you safe Makoto. Forget about all of that. You are here. You are safe. You are with me. That is all that you need to know.”

He falls asleep next to me, holding my hand. His breathing is even. His face free of pain. There are no nightmares. With him nestled against me, I can forget about everything else in the world. If I have to keep him here, next to me, tied and bound to me forever, I will do it.

I am not a good man.


	13. Light and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto wakes up next to Sousuke and feels his whole world has been turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short chapter, and primarily involves Makoto being introspective.

In my dream, my mother smiles like the sun before she turns away from me, and night falls in her wake. Still, her warmth drives away the cold from my bones as I cling to myself, naked and broken, in a dark and narrow place.

The glinting eyes, the clawing hands dissipate like smoke, vanishing with her smile. Blood flows and glistens all over my pale skin, blossoming like roses. Bruises spread out like hyacinths around my neck, my wrists, my hips, purifying me with their delicate petals.

Though the dark surrounds me, engulfing me, wrapping sleek and shadowy tendrils all over me, I am no longer afraid of it. It is not the abyssal gloom of the nightmares from before. It somehow glistens from within, lit up by a distant moon. It comforts me- it lulls me deeper and deeper into sleep. I pray for night to last forever…

I wake up in his arms, in his bed, and I convince myself it’s a dream. What else could it be that brings me so close to him? I try to will myself back to sleep, but his breath is on the back of my neck, his right hand rests softly against my chest, and our legs are entwined under the single blanket covering us both…

How can this be anything but a dream?

Like a gulp of the bitterest ale, memories from the day before pour into me, and I feel like choking. Everything is patched and blurred, and none of the pieces fit together. It makes no sense, however I try to interpret it.

Blood rushes to my face as I remember the feeling of his lips on mine. He has broken his own rules for me. How intensely must he pity me to go so far?

But the words he said to me, softly whispered in my ear as he held me close to him. How could a few simple words feel so much like home, like safety, like love?

_Love._

Is it right to have these feelings for him now that I’m next to him, in his embrace? My need for him, my want for the things he does to me when we’re alone together- can I let myself accept all that for what it truly is? Can I tell _him_ I’m in love with him? Have been, for so very long?

Always, always. And only him.

“Mmphh, are you awake Makoto?” His voice is hoarser than usual. His hand glides across my chest and grips my arm, his lips place a soft kiss on the tip of my ear. My heart will drown in this intimacy. I feel as if it has always been this way between us, this casual closeness, so domestic and innocent.  

How do I answer him? The words will not come. If I speak now, the spell will break. The clock will strike midnight, and I will be a whore again, and he will be the man who has paid for me.

“Are you feeling better? Do you want something to eat? I know you are awake, Makoto. Say something.” He is sitting up beside me, his face bent over mine, his fingers running through my unkempt hair.

Stars flicker and fade into oblivion inside my head. The darkness loses its fragile warmth. Dreams are no more than dew drops. As soon as the sun rises, they sigh away into nothingness, and the world forgets them.

“I’m fine, I think.” I sound like a broken chalice- empty and useless.

“I do not believe that, _I think_.” He is so close, so near to me. And yet…

“Here, sit up Makoto. Have some water at least.” His arms lift me and maneuver me as if I’m nothing more than a child’s toy- a slave to his whims. One arm around my waist, holding me upright, he lifts the goblet to my lips with the other. My throat is dry as a desert, my lips are parched, and I drink the cool water greedily, too fast, until I’m choking on it. Gently, like a mother’s caress, he wipes my mouth and rubs my back until I stop coughing.

“You have to take it slow. You are not strong enough yet.” He smiles fondly at my mishap, pushing my hair away from my forehead. His fingers burn my skin, leaving phantom scars where he touches me. I want to bear them forever, feel them searing me for the rest of my life, reminding me of him.

But when was I ever strong, my lord? You do not know me at all. If you did know- if you knew of the hands that touched me before yours, what I used my mouth for before you kissed it last night- you would not hold me like this.

And I will not deceive you. But I cannot tell you the whole truth either. Because I cannot bear it if you come to hate me, if you stop touching me. 

But he knows what I was. Yet he still…

How can he stand being this close to me when I want to claw my own skin off every single time I look into a mirror?

“Makoto, why are you crying? I told you, no one can hurt you anymore. I will not let anyone touch you again.”

I swore to myself I would never cry in front of him. He would never see me weak. And now…

I guess neither of us is very good at keeping his word.

Once again, he holds me as I cry quietly. A talent of mine, I suppose. A pure silence that wraps itself around us- the steady beating of his heart is the only sound piercing it, cutting into me.

“You are mine, and I will protect you. No one can hurt you again. No mortal can take you from my arms, Makoto.”

On that night, in another world, in a different lifetime, under strange constellations I thought I would never see again, he held me once, and I have since carried the fire of his touch deep inside me. The memory of his hands, their steadfast grip- I took refuge in that memory, wrapping it around me in my despair, to survive the endless pain of my adolescence. He is the reason I am still alive. I handed over my body to whoever would have it, but my soul sought him in that memory, hidden deep inside my broken self. Always. Every single time. Or I would have lost my mind long ago. 

His arms around me now, his scent intoxicating me, the sound of his voice lifting me up out of grimy depths my life has been confined to- how can I believe this is real? How can I accept it, so simply, so easily?

But I want to believe it. I want to believe he loves me as I love him. I want to be taken to his bed every night, and I want to wake up next to him every morning. I want his lips and his lust and his darkest secrets- his entire being poured into me. I belong to him. He owns me.

And that is enough for me. That is all I want.


	14. Kindness and Cruelty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto's internal struggle continues as he tries to understand his place in Lord Sousuke's life.

“Mako! Hey Mako! Wake up! Look I brought you something!” Nagisa is leaning over my ear, whispering loud enough to wake the dead.

“What in the name of…?” It’s _his_ voice, huskier than usual in the morning- lying beside me, he throws a thoughtless arm around my waist and grunts his displeasure at being woken up so early.

“Mako, is he going to be angry? Should I go?” Nagisa’s face expresses more curiosity than uncertainty as he clambers over me onto the bed to get a better look at Lord Sousuke.

“Are you a child or a feline?” Suddenly he’s sitting upright, pulling Nagisa’s cheeks as the boy giggles and shouts for me to protect him.

The wild flowers Nagisa has picked for me, fresh with morning dew, scatter all over the bed- their colors as vibrant, their scent as sweet as the pure smile on Nagisa’s face.

Rei enters the room sheepishly, having followed Nagisa, and offers me an apologetic smile as he pulls back the curtains and stands beside the bed, waiting patiently for his friend.

Everything around me is lit up, golden and hazy, like the pages of a picture book. Such effortless, casual innocence. It wraps itself around me like the warmth of a blazing hearth in midwinter. Like reading a story written by someone else, I let my life unfold around me, letting my grip on its threads loosen, letting it flow over me like waves crashing on the sand. The darkness lurking at its depths, hiding in the corners, its shadowy tentacles always one step behind me- it is just as much a part of me as the green of my irises. 

For now, I am happy. I should be happy...

“Mako are you feeling better now? You look better. We were so worried, weren’t we Rei? Haru came by last night and he brought some books for you but you were sleeping so I took them to your room. He said to let him know as soon you were awake. He was so worried. We were all worried. What happened? Did you catch a cold?” Perched comfortably in Lord Sousuke’s lap as if it’s the most natural place for him to be, Nagisa reaches out a hand to touch my cheek, looking concerned and pleased all at the same time, talking endlessly until he is out of breath.

If I cannot smile for my sake, I can at least reflect Nagisa’s joy back at him. I force myself to sit upright. Wearing a light, pale blue tunic that sits loosely around my shoulders, I suddenly feel my head spin, and a deep cold within my bones seizes my body, making me cringe. I feel criminal dressed in his clothes. What business do I have in his bed in the light of day? 

“Do not just sit up like that, Makoto. You are still too weak. Rei, please ask Takano to bring Makoto’s breakfast. And you! You noisy little demon, did you go off into the woods by yourself for these?” Lord Sousuke’s face hardens all of a sudden, clutching Nagisa’s shoulders a little too hard.

“It is fine my lord. I went with him, and one of the Mikoshiba brothers, I never can tell them apart.” Rei stops short of leaving the room, turning back to reassure Lord Sousuke.

“Good. None of you are to go off alone into the woods, or anywhere else for that matter. It is not safe. Do you understand?” His eyes flicker towards me as he speaks. I look away flinching, unable to meet him gaze, ashamed of myself though I can no longer say why.

“Yes, my lord. You already said, so there really isn’t any need to worry. Can we have some of the cakes you brought back with you? I’m sure Makoto will love them too.” Nagisa dismisses Lord Sousuke’s concerns with a wave of his hand.

Lord Sousuke laughs without reservation then, ruffling Nagisa’s hair- the same unthinking gesture that made me fall so helplessly in love with him when I was a boy. My chest hurts. My head is spinning again. I must leave here. I must go.

His hand reaches out and finds mine. Even though he is still busy talking to Nagisa, he seems to sense my need for comfort, for him…

The inside of my head is liquid with a transient pain. I can no longer make sense of anything. It all keeps falling apart, and my hands bleed as I try to piece the shards back together. When something is broken this badly, you don't fix it. You throw it out, and you buy a new one. 

“Why did you pick these flowers for Makoto anyway? You know we have a greenhouse full of roses and lilies and so many others varieties, do you not?” His eyes shine unlike I have ever seen them before- like the sky, like the sea, like the north star. Vast, all-encompassing, and out of my reach. 

“Because none of them suit Mako. They’re beautiful, but they’re not like him. I don’t know. I felt like he should have wild ones from the woods.” Nagisa starts picking up the flowers from the bed, rearranging them into a bouquet.

“Come to think of it, these do remind me of the ones you used to leave for me, Makoto.” The words- the impossible words. I have forgotten how long I've wanted to hear them. He speaks them so casually, smiling at me so softly, increasing his pressure on my hand.

I can only look at him. My own words are still lost to me. They will not come out. It feels as if I’m being emptied of everything. I cannot speak, I cannot bring myself to say a single thing. What am I supposed to feel? So he knows who I am. Then all of this- this is all pity for the boy I used to be.

He will no longer touch me the way he did. His desire for me seems to have ebbed away. Maybe he finally understands how tainted I am. Maybe all that he has left to offer me is this cruel kindness.

I should be happy, still. I should be grateful.

After Rei returns with Takano and breakfast, the happy chattering voices drown out everything. With every word they say, the numbness sweeps over me, settling in.

What will he think of me if I scream now? If I ask them all to leave? If I ask him to fuck me, to use me all he wants, until I’ve forgotten who I am?

“Right, since Makoto is in good hands, why don’t you all stay here and keep him company? I have some important things to attend to. I have already put them off for too long as it is.” I did not even notice him leaving my side. I did not feel his hand taken away. I did not miss his presence. 

I should smile at him. It would please him. So I force myself. I have always been forcing myself. Living one moment to the next, barely keeping all my worn out parts together- abandoned, unwholesome, alone.

I should leave his bed now. At least I can force out the necessary words that remove me from his side. If he no longer finds me desirable, if my body does not please him anymore, what other use can I have for him?

He smiles as he dresses, smiles as he looks at me, smiles as he ruffles my hair- like I’m Nagisa, or Rei, or my own younger self.

He will kill me with that smile.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do apologize for the delay with this update. I will be putting up a Sousuke POV chapter by Sunday to make up for it.  
> A few words about Makoto's persistent doubts about his self-worth. Some of you must be getting impatient with the angsty emotions swirling inside his head, but for someone so young, he has endured a significant amount of trauma. I could fast-forward to the part where everything is perfectly reconciled inside his head and he is able to move on, but I feel like it would be unfair to the narrative.  
> As always, all feedback is very welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	15. The Language of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Haru POV chapter.  
> TW for hints of physical violence and torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I promised that the next chapter was going to be Sousuke's POV. But I ended up writing one for Haru instead. Not to worry. As promised, I will still be posting a Sousuke chapter by Sunday.

It is not that I am in love.

It is not that I want to kiss him, or bed him.

But I think about him constantly. And I worry about him. And I want to make him smile. And I want to take him away from that brash man.

Then what is it that I feel for Makoto, if it is not love? 

Love cannot just be one way of being with someone. Passionate love, worshiped so intently by the poets- that cannot be all there is to it. It has to be more than that. It must be.

I love Makoto. Even I know that. Even I can comprehend that.

I have always been told I am haughty, distant, unfeeling. That my eyes are cold as ice. That I am abrupt and harsh- unnecessarily honest in my opinions.

I do not think my presence has made anyone smile before Makoto. Except my mother- but she must have felt duty bound to love me, to feel happy because of me.

Makoto is different. When I talk to him, his eyes sparkle, and his smile frees me- it makes me think of raindrops on trees, glinting like diamonds after the storm has passed. Things that I only read in books before- I find myself understanding them, thinking strange thoughts after I part from him. 

Seeing him hurt that day, carried away by Yamazaki, I finally understood what he meant to me.

But it was already too late. The first time we met was too late. The man he loves is not me. I cannot love him the way he needs to be loved.

And still I find myself walking towards that ghastly castle every morning, every evening, hoping to see him, hoping to hear his voice again.

The sky is cloudless, but the chill in the air cuts the sun’s warmth, turning my gloveless hands a light shade of blue. If Makoto is awake now, I will read that poem to him he likes to hear. The one about the nightingale. He says my voice steadies his heart, reminds him of the home he has never had.

He likes sad things. They make him smile. It’s only stories with gaudily happy endings that he despises.

I understand that too. Without saying a word to each other, we know the feeling of being haunted by a sense of isolation that lives inside us both- has made a home in our hearts. In this we are together.

At the very least I can console myself with this thought.

The attendant who opens the door for me and takes my coat happily tells me that Makoto is awake, and leads me upstairs to Yamazaki’s bedchamber.

So he is still there. I only have myself to blame for that.

The desire to keep Makoto for myself and the desire to see him happy- why do the two contradict each other so often?

It is strange to be in love. It has shaken me to the core. And I cannot wash it away from me. Thoughts of Makoto cling to my dreams, seep into the back of my mind during my waking hours.

The pain they inflict upon me is an addiction. It numbs every other sense I possess, wrapping itself around me like a cloud of opium smoke and I am lost to it.

If I have any sense left, I will pack up my bags tomorrow and go back. I will write him a letter every month and he will write one back to me. I will keep his letters in a box, along with the dried husks of the daffodils* and carnations* we picked together last week. When we are old and close to death, I will tell him how I loved him once, long ago. He will smile and tell me he always knew. That he loved me too…

Only he loved Yamazaki more than he loved me.

So why can’t I leave?

“Haru?” His voice is so strained, he looks so frail. I want to hold him. I want to be close to him, shutting out the world. I want to save him. I want him to save me.

“You look pale. Haven’t you been eating anything?” The words that I speak to him are so lifeless. My heart is so used to bearing its secrets silently.

“I had some tea before, with milk. And a cake.” He smiles at me so purely, as if my arrival has lifted a burden off his shoulders. At least I can give him this. At least I can be his friend, his confidant.

I cannot leave him because he needs me. That is why I stay. And I need him. Though I cannot say why.

“That’s good, but you should have something more wholesome instead. Rei, go see if Takano can have someone make broth and fresh-baked bread for Makoto’s lunch. And see if you can find any fruit. No more cakes for you. Your digestion is still weak, Mako.” He smiles at me again, promising to eat no more sweets until I say so.

“Nagisa just brought me the book you left for me. It’s just want I needed Haru. You always know what I want.” He reaches out for my hand and I let him hold it. If it was anyone but Makoto, I would shake them off. I detest being touched so casually, so unnecessarily. But he is different. 

Makoto’s touch is lighter than air, his fingers shivering stiffly. I let our fingers entwine, our coldness melting into mutual warmth as our hands join together. 

Takano comes in after a while, looking anxious about something, beckoning me outside the room. Nagisa is sitting next to Makoto, trying to read a poem from the book. Makoto seems to have relaxed since I’ve been here, responding sweetly to the comfort of Nagisa’s little body curled up beside him like a pet kitten.

Yamazaki should be here, shouldn’t he? He never leaves Makoto’s side when I am around. So what can be keeping him away now? What’s more important than guarding his prized possession? Unless…

Leaving Makoto distracted with Nagisa, I follow Takano.

“Uh…Lord Sousuke would like a favor, Haruka.” He is fidgeting as he talks. Quite unusual for someone with his poise and calmness.

“What for?”

“I would rather not say.”

“Where is he?”

“In the dungeons.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Then, you will…”

“I’ll decide that after I talk to him.”

Takano leads me down the slithering, twisting staircases descending into the dark, decaying bowels of the castle. A single lamp, dimly yellow, lights our way.

I expect to hear Handa screaming in pain, begging Yamazaki for mercy. But everything is deathly quiet- the heavy silence undercut by the barely audible scuttling of rats’ paws and the hiss of the wind sweeping down the drain pipes, whispering through gaps in the heavy stone walls, echoing like so many ghosts.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, we make our way through a narrow passageway, turning this way and that, until we see a trickle of dull light ahead.

Stopping just outside a heavy iron door, Takano bids me enter. He does not accompany me inside.

“I will wait here, Haru. Don’t let him push you into doing anything you do not want.” He is clearly agitated, beads of sweat forming on his brow even though it’s colder than the grave in this dark hellish pit.

The sight that greets me as I enter the room might have made me vomit if I had a weaker constitution.

But it makes me smile instead.

“I gather from your expression that you will agree to assist me?” Yamazaki is stripped to the waist, covered in blood. None of it is his own. There is no one else in the room with him but what was once Handa. It appears Lord Sousuke settles his scores without assistance.

Then why has he called me?

“You can see that he has fainted. But I am not done yet. I need you to bring him around again. I have a few more implements I would very much like to try out before his damned spirit descends into hell.”

“You have gone overboard. I will try, but I do not know if it will work. Though I want it to.”

I get to work quietly, determinedly.

Yamazaki has been too enthusiastic. The man is close to death. But my skill is second to none.

When he finally regains consciousness, the one eye that is still left to him widens in horror at the sight of the half-naked brute standing in front of him, grinning like a ghoul, and Handa starts screaming.

I have never heard anyone scream this much, or this pathetically before.

“You can leave now. Your job is done.”

“I’d like to stay, if you do not mind.”

“What for? This time around, after I finish, even you will not be able to bring him back.”

“I want to watch him die. I want to see this.”

Yamazaki observes me quietly for a few seconds before nodding curtly.

“Tell Takano he can leave then. The noise will worry him.”

I do as I'm told.

As I see life flicker out of Handa's eyes, leaving his useless limbs and the grisly mess of his body, I feel viciously happy. 

I love Makoto. And so does Yamazaki. That is why are we are both here, in the depths of this castle, watching a man die- killing him.

I swore an oath to save lives. I trained my hands to fight the claws of death. And now...

Love makes you do strange things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Daffodils stand for unrequited love among other things.  
> *Carnations symbolize innocence and pure love.  
> Both these flowers sum up the way Haru feels about Makoto. 
> 
> Earlier, I mentioned roses and hyacinths. Even though they appear in Makoto's dream, they stand for the way he sees Sousuke. Roses, especially red ones, represent (passionate) love and hyacinths stand for jealousy.  
> The flower symbolism kinda snuck in unexpectedly. But I like it, so it stays. I have yet to figure out what kind of wild flowers represent Makoto, but I will mention it in the next chapter I think. 
> 
> Also, if Haru's later POV seems a little OOC, it's because he is starting to think differently because of Makoto. His thoughts are running ahead of him because this is the first time he is in love with someone.  
> Also his orientation in this fic is asexual, more specifically homoromantic.  
> Makoto is bisexual (though he has only experienced sex with men), while Sousuke is homosexual.  
> Just felt that I should share these little details.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by Peter Gabriel's cover of "My Body is a Cage" (originally by the Arcade Fire).  
> The poem Haru is talking about is "Ode to a Nightingale" by Keats.


	16. Bloodlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Sousuke thinks about his relationship with Makoto and comes to see Haruka as a rival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little later than promised, but I still managed to update it before the weekend is entirely over. Kinda?  
> I hope you guys like it.

My skin is slick with sweat and blood. If Nagisa was to see me now, he would believe that I truly was a demonic vampire, a ghoul roaming the corridors of my castle at night, stained with red.

But the debt is paid now. Even if I had to use Nanase's aid. In the end, I am satisfied.

As we walk slowly through the darkly twisting passageways, I can barely hear Nanase’s light footfall behind me. It unnerves me, being here with him, sharing this monstrous secret with him. When I was first sent to this place, I used to spend my nights down here in the dark, looking for the bones of the unfortunate souls rumored to have spent their final, desperate hours in these cavernous spaces.  At that time, my only wish was to join them. I would drink myself into a senseless stupor, praying for death- cursing my father’s name, Rin’s name, my own name…

So much has changed since then. 

I want to hear Makoto say my name. If he speaks it, whispers it softly into my ear as I take him, then I will be able to live with myself I think. I swore to myself I would not touch him that way until I had paid for my negligence. Being in the same bed with him night after night, and after such a lengthy separation, without being able to hold him as I want to, has been tortuous.

The silence is heavy, weighing down on us. Complicit in our crime. 

“Do you intend to shock your attendants with this look, or will you wash yourself at some point before going back to Mako?” The way he says that word, “Mako”, with such sweetness on his tongue- I want to rip it out and toss it to the wolves along with the rest of him.

“What would I do without your sharp wit, Nanase? I almost forgot I was covered in the blood of the man I just murdered. The man you just watched me murder, I might add.” Everything about this rigid, sneering man sets my teeth on edge.

“Can I say something impertinent?” He is persistent if anything. Does he know how close he is to joining Handa?

“Can I prevent you from saying it?”

“Probably not.”

“Then go ahead.”

“I know what you’re going to do to Makoto, now that you’ve…cleared your conscience. He is not physically strong enough for it yet. I would counsel you to wait a few more days before, ahem, indulging yourself.” The nerve of this boy is unbearable. How dare he speak to me of Makoto like this? As if I would put myself before his well-being?

“Do you want to offer yourself up as compensation? I will not be able to tell the different in the dark anyhow, being the savage lust-driven demon that I am.” And after I’m done with him, he can join the rest of the haunters of the dark. Good riddance.

His only response is derisive laughter. How he infuriates me with every breath he takes.

But he is not wrong about me. I do intend to have Makoto tonight. My desire overrides my sense. If I am being truthful to myself at least, then I would like to embrace Makoto just as I am, without delay, covered in that filthy vermin’s remains.

I would like to bend Makoto over on my bed, before me on all fours, calling out my name in the throes of passion, as I ram into him again and again- all night long. I want him kneeling before me, hands tied behind his back, blindfolded, sucking my cock, his pretty red mouth full of my cum. I want him so badly it drives me wild. I could make Nanase watch as I take Makoto in every way possible. That way, I can make him understand that “Mako” is mine, only mine.

But none of that is enough. His body is no longer enough. I want his everything. He must only cater to me. He must only think of me. I should lock him away. I _can_ if I _want_ to. He is my possession. My greatest treasure. Mine. My Makoto.

It might be bloodlust. It might be the overwhelming deluge of my pent up wanting- or it might be both. My cock is already throbbing in anticipation. If I go to him now, like this, my lust will destroy us both. I am afraid of my own longing for him. I am afraid of what I feel for him. I am afraid of myself.

I have to pace myself. I have yet to kiss him properly, taste him as I desire. He will stay with me now, in my bed. I will not allow him to part from me. Not anymore.

Takano has prepared a bath in a small room next to the innocuous little door from which we emerge back into daylight. Nanase walks away from me without so much as a nod. I wonder if he will go to Makoto and say goodbye before he leaves. I hope he does not.

There is a fresh set of clothing on the chair next to the bath, but no towel. Takano must have forgotten in his anxious haste to pretend he does not know what I have done today. He wanted Handa punished. So did Dr. Sasabe. But they wanted a clean death for him. A nice village hanging to make a spectacle of the law breaker. This is the first time I have openly defied Takano’s wishes. It was simply not possible for me to let that man die an easy death.

After I take care of my erection, imagining the feel of Makoto's lips around my hard cock, I scrub my skin until it is raw. Makoto cannot know about this. Despite my torrid fantasies of fucking him in this primal, bestial state, I know he will despise the act I have committed- even if I did the deed in his name. The blame must be mine alone. And Nananse’s.

Nanase is in love. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at Makoto, I can hear it in the way he calls my beloved’s name. And what will I do if Makoto returns that love? How far can I go to retain ownership of what I hold dearest to me? These unwelcome thoughts swirl around my mind, making me delirious with uncertainty.

I must know what he feels for me. I will have him say what I long to hear. He must tell me he loves him. I will have those words from him.

I throw on my clothes without the luxury of drying off first, and they stick to my damp skin. How I will explain this state to him? But that does not matter. If Nanase is with him now, I am already late.

As I walk back into my room, he is sitting in bed alone, still wearing my tunic and nothing else. But only I know that, because I am the one who dressed him. Layers of warm blankets cover the lower half of his body as he looks out of the window, clutching a china cup filled to the brim with cold, untouched tea in his long, thin fingers.

“Shall I pour you another cup, Makoto?” He is so lost in thought that he does not notice my presence until I am sitting next to him in bed.

Startled, he looks around to face me. There are unshed tears in his eyes, like drawn curtains hiding hundreds of anguished secrets within.

“What is it?” Still unresponsive, he lowers his soft brown lashes as I take the cup away from him and place it back on the tea tray.

He is so silent and statuesque. As if he is under a witch’s curse. His broken heart, his delicate body, his unspeaking lips- waiting for something, for someone to return his soul to him.

I carefully take his face between my hands, tilting his chin up so he has to look at me. His lips part a little of their own volition, surprised by this sudden contact, at the tenderness of my touch. I have held him so roughly before when we joined our bodies together in this very bed. The way he answers to the gentleness of my hands is a new sensation. I want to explore every inch of his body at my leisure, tasting him, seeking the hidden places that will drive him mad with desire. His skin is warm and pure like a lustrous pearl, his breath sweet in my face. 

“Makotoooo! Haru said to give these to you!” Nagisa scampers into the room with his usual joyful abandon, clutching a handful of books, but stops short when he sees us.

“Why are you all wet, my lord?” His curiosity is aimed at my appearance instead of the intimacy between me and Makoto.

“I went for a swim and forgot my towel. Now off with you.”

“You’ll get sick you know. It’s really cold. You can make Mako sick too, if you make the bed all damp like that.” He is frowning at me, so much wiser than his years. He is right.

I curse myself internally. Nanase was right. I am a beast driven by my passions, putting my needs before everything else. I might as well step out of the way now, and hand Makoto over to him.

“You are right, Nagisa. I am sorry. Why don’t you see if you can get Makoto to have some nice hot tea with something to eat while I dress properly?”

I clean myself up in my own chambers, and put on my robe. Makoto’s silence is painful to bear. He will not look at me and he will not speak to me. Does he hate me now? Do I remind him of the other men who have used him and hurt him? Then again, how am I different from them?

There is only one way to show him.

Nagisa stays with Makoto until he finishes his tea, and leaves with the empty cups and plates, kissing Makoto lightly on the cheek as he bids us goodnight. A broken smile flickers on Makoto's face at the boy's innocent touch, fading too fast. 

The sky outside is burning violet and crimson with the setting sun. I can see its colors reflected in my beloved’s downcast eyes. What is there to think about anymore? I am the only one keeping us apart now.

I slide my arm around his waist and pull him closer to me. His body stiffens at the closeness between us.

“Makoto, please look at me.”

Slowly turning towards me, he raises his angel’s face towards mine. Demon that I am- marked for eternity by the remnants of all the crimes I have committed- I will have him in all his purity, all his sanctity. I will keep him all to myself.

As my fingers trace his jawline, his lips part again. I lean down towards him, closing my eyes, feeling his heart beat faster and faster against mine as I pull him closer. As my tongue finds his, his bittersweet taste overwhelms me, and I deepen the kiss as much as I can without suffocating us both. His hands move to my sides, resting lightly against my robe at first, then clutching desperately at its silken fabric as I show no signs of letting go.

I can stay like this forever. I can keep him here forever, chained up in my kiss.

When we finally break apart, he leans his head against my shoulder, his chest heaving under the see-through cloth of the tunic. I put both my arms around him, tightening the embrace, and he clings to me until he falls asleep.

Kissing him, tasting him, brushing his soft full lips with the tip of my tongue, having him fall asleep in my arms- it fills me up, satisfies every need I have felt in my heart. I could never imagine it would feel like this- that anything could feel like this- before tonight. For now, watching the light of the full moon reflected in his pale cheek, I want nothing more. I could die now and every wish I have ever had would be fulfilled. 

But I am greedy. I want years and years with him. Embracing him, loving him, being loved by him. 

We have both our lives ahead of us- a lifetime to find out if he loves me, to show him how much I love him.

I am his. I always was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really like to hear what you guys thought of this chapter. I enjoyed writing it, especially the last bit. I will respond to all comments later today. I have to be at work in 5 hours and should probably sleep now.  
> As always, thanks for reading!


	17. Ether and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto questions his dependency on Sousuke. The threads binding them together begin to unravel. Can Makoto stop himself from falling apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was partly inspired by T.S. Eliot's "Four Quartets". I've been rereading them before I sleep recently. They soothe my soul.

Time is a strange thing. How many days, moments, years does it take for love to crystallize? To take shape from the latent vapors of dreams, to turn from hopeless longings to the sweetest of kisses?

I can stop to count the nights since he first took me in his arms and kissed my mouth as a lover would.

But what good would it do?

Since then, I have shared his bed every night. He kisses me so often, as if he is trying to imprint himself on my lips. He holds me, caresses me, whispers words to me I never dreamed of hearing in his voice. When I sleep, I hold on to him, afraid of what the morning might bring. I fear I am on the verge of death, lying abandoned in a gutter somewhere, and this is a fever dream I’ve concocted to escape the nightmare of my mortality.

I fear dawn light, I fear waking, I fear not being next to him, I fear his face- terrified of what I would do if this limpid smile of his turns to indifference again.

But the way he touches me now is so ethereal. Like the sunlight on my skin. I feel unreal, I feel like air and water and fire and earth- everything at once, and nothing at all.

It is only when his tongue is tasting my mouth, when his hands become frantic, grasping and groping at my flesh, that I am restored to myself. In the dark, he strokes and kisses, stopping short of being inside me. He handles me as if I am a frail vessel fashioned out of the thinnest glass, as if I’ll break if he fills me up.

I want to feel him inside me again. I want his roughness, his pulsating desire- I want us joining together like beasts in heat, rutting mindlessly.

But he insists on treating me as if I’m an innocent, as if my soul is still intact.

“You look better today, Makoto. Your cheeks are all flushed pink. I missed seeing that.” His cold fingertips against my warm skin, smiling at me, the morning sun illuminating him from behind. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me, waking me gently.  

“I feel better.” I feign a smile as I lift myself up. His eyes are sparkling as he looks at me- like billowing seas in a storm.

Almost immediately, he wraps his arms around me and we are kissing again. When our lips meet, I feel myself go completely limp. My blood thunders- the heat from my body must burn him. Why does he not flinch from the intensity of it? We will both catch fire and turn to ash, lost to the wind forever. When his tongue forces my mouth open, I moan uncontrollably. His fingers clutch my hair, softly, firmly. The taste of him is driving me mad. I draw myself closer to him, as close as I can, wrapping my arms around him, clutching at his shirt. How long he keeps kissing me, I have no idea. When we finally break apart, my face is red, my breath is erratic. I want more, more, more. But it stops here. It always stops here now.  

Last night, as he bathed me, he remained dressed, apart from me. Such gentleness, such innocence. It leaves me desperate, needy, my mind seething lasciviously with the filthiest of visions, my body unfulfilled and blank.

“What would you like to eat? I’ll have something sent up right away. Oh, and I brought some things for you. I was waiting for you to recover so you could enjoy them properly.” He kisses my temple, caresses my hand, smiles and smiles and smiles.

I would like my lord’s cum, my lord’s cock, my lord’s manhood ravaging me. That is what I would like.

I push away the blankets from my body, and grab a hold of his hand, pulling it down towards my groin. I need his touch. I need to feel him. I need to hear him grunting, moaning my name.

His breath catches as I push his fingers inside the loose fabric of my trousers, as his fingers make reluctant contact with my hot, slippery flesh.

“Are you sure you’re ready, Makoto?” As I nod, his eyes lose their tenderness- a dark shadow clouds his irises-shifting from blue to green to blue again- threatening to devour me. I cower with fear, I tremble under the slowly building onslaught of his lust. I want to be engulfed in the darkness of his heart, melded with him for eternity.

He pulls me closer, into his lap, starts kissing me again. But it’s different now. Sucking, biting- wet and heedless. One hand loosely gripping my throat, he strokes my cock with the other, teasing the tip. The pleasure travels through my veins, running wild with my blood.

Breathing him in, savoring him like a rich wine, I feel tethered to the ground again. As I come all over his hand, I reach for it, bringing his fingers to my mouth, licking them clean one by one. Mesmerized, he watches me, his eyes glazed over- intoxicated. I am his drug of choice, his opium- red poppies in place of my lips as he kisses me again, tasting my cum from my mouth.

The spell breaks. The dream is dispelled.

This is real. I am real. This moment in time holds my body inside itself and seals me up. With him. Too good to be true. Too absolute.

His fingers still slick with me, he pushes into me- one, then two, then three. The hand at my throat moves away without leaving a single mark, reaching around to hold me closer as he enters me. As we move together, facing each other, our lips fuse again; he pours into me- like wine from a chalice.

Red, red roses burst in bloom across my vision- the moment in the garden is endless. With him, I am alive and I am not alive. I am here and I am not here. Where he is, I am. Where is not, I cease to be.  

When I come back to myself, I feel listless and distorted. As if I was dreamt up by him. As if I am a ghost that haunts him, and only him. When he stops thinking about me, when he stops seeing me, when he is not with me- why is it that I feel like I slip out of my physicality, that I am nothing more than a whim, a vapor, a stray thought escaped from its heedless thinker?

This love is more than desire, more than affection, more than need.

This is the only thing keeping me alive. Without it, I would simply disappear. If he stops dreaming me now, it would be as if I was never here at all. They would all forget me. Nagisa, Rei, Takano. They'll wake up from a strange, phantom dream they cannot recall. The world would have me erased from it. I only exist here, now, in this moment, with Sousuke inside me. 

I wonder if that would be entirely unpleasant- to just stop being. Bearing his weight, burdened with his yearning, I am kept alive.

What will happen if I let go of his hand?

What would happen if I didn’t love him anymore?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took much longer than expected. I've been so busy this last week with work that I couldn't get my head straight. Besides, I want to do justice to this fic, so I decided to take my time with it instead of updating it in haste and regretting it later. It's taking up a lot of my mental space, and I have random notes about it scribbled all over the place.  
> This was a short chapter, but I intend to update with another, longer Sousuke POV chapter very soon (and this time, let's hope I keep my word). In the meantime, I did put together a playlist for the first 10 chapters of the fic, and I've updated the summary to include it.  
> Once again, I'd like to say that your feedback keeps me going, so please share your thoughts, however brief.  
> Thank you for reading.


	18. Human and Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke tries to navigate his newfound relationship with Makoto. The delicate balance of their physical love and their emotional affection is a strange new territory, and Sousuke finds himself lost in it, without map or compass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Sousuke POV chapter, as promised. And a faster than usual update. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Isn’t there an old, old tale about an impossible boy? A story my nanny used to tell me to make me feel better when I was sad and didn’t know why? About the boy in the peach? The impossible child, the lost child, the one that came back home after all?

In the end, we all battle our demons. In the end, we all come home. Only, I never understood what it meant to have a home. Not before Makoto…

My impossible love, my lost love, the one returned to me after the world used him up and tossed him aside…

When you are a child they call it having an adventure. They tell you to be brave, to go out into the wide world and fight demons. You do not see it for the vile trap it is until your flesh is already torn to pieces, mangled by its steely claws.

My Mako. My home. My only love.

If I think back now, on what I perceived to be love when I was younger, caught up in my own tragedy, I can only laugh.

If I had been paying attention, if I had been careful, would I have been able to see him drowning in front of me? Would I have been able to keep him safe, happy? Could I have saved him?

Maybe he wouldn’t have been mine then- but he would have at least been his own.

I cannot help blaming myself.

Limp in my arms after our lovemaking, his breath ragged from the effort, his skin sweaty, pearlescent in the soft morning light, his warm forehead against my shoulder, his heat burning into my skin, through my clothes- like this, together like this, this is how it should be. Isn’t that right? Isn’t it worth everything that came before- this tender embrace, this union?

I hate the man I’ve become.

I would have him at any cost, unmindful of the consequences to either of us. It must end like this. It must always end like this. In all the whirling worlds, in every lifetime on this earth- he must be mine. That is the only fitting end to this story of ours.

The flowers he used to bring me- daisies and stalks of purple heather- I never let anyone throw them out. And once, on my birthday I think, he had sought roses and hyacinths from the estate gardens. I wonder if he stole them. I wonder if he got a beating for taking them. They’d lasted much longer than his wild flowers. The maids had found them beautiful, stately, and placed them in a glass vase filled with water. Beside their lurid splendor, in their deepening crimson and mauve shadows, the heather shrivelled up and died. I remember smashing the vase to bits. I do not remember why. Did he notice? Did I make him cry? I wonder…

“We should do something about this before someone comes in.” His voice is light, like a stray breeze rustling through spring leaves.

“I locked the door. Nagisa has a habit of barging in.” I lift his face to mine- he smiles and I kiss him.

Through our long, winding years, we’ve both already paid the price for every intimacy we share now. A couple of clean slates- isn’t that so?

He laughs quietly at my words, his face brightening up. I haven’t seen this expression adorning his features before. It makes me want to have it etched in marble and preserved for all eternity.

My divine Antinous.

He should always be like this. He should always be happy.

“I want a bath, my lord. Will you oblige?” He looks at my shyly, his fingers playing with stray strands of my hair.

“Stop calling me that, Makoto.”

“What my lord?”

“That _. My lord_. Say my name, Makoto.”

“That…I don’t think I can…”

“Why not?”

“Because…It won’t be appropriate. Even Takano doesn’t.”

“Takano isn’t my lover. He doesn’t share my bed. He doesn’t have ownership of my heart. I will hear you say my name, Makoto.”

“B-but…” Clearly flustered, he squirms in my lap, blushing. Blood rushes to my groin. Such a beast I am.

“Go on, then. It’s simple. Say my name.” Whispering in his ear, I kiss his neck, lingeringly, tasting his sweat. He breathes in deep, shuddering all over.

“I-I can’t…”

“Yes. You can. Say it, Makoto.”

“S-Sousuke…” He doesn’t look at me when he finally breathes it out. I never knew a few syllables strung together in a low, sweet murmur could drive me wild like this.

I am devouring his mouth again. Holding him so firmly to me I almost stifle us both. I lift him up, and push him onto the bed, ripping off every thread from his body.

His breathing is still ragged, his body still so thin, so frail.

He will not be able to withstand the torrid force of my desire.

It cannot be this way. I must learn to pace my lust, or I will hurt him, lose him.

One hand around my own hard cock, I take his in my mouth. He gasps and writhes in bed, moaning my name. _My name._

The taste of him is so strange, so familiar. Ripe peaches in late summer. Home.

He is thoroughly exhausted, his body paying the price for both our pleasure. After having the bath filled with hot water, I have to carry him to it.

Holding him in my arms as we both luxuriate in the bath, he relaxes against me, leaning back, letting out a satisfied sigh. The strange lightness of my heart, the calmness surrounding us both- a stolen moment, outside the desolate, despairing flow of time.

“You know, Makoto, that you actually belong to me? When I went to see my mother, she said…” I do not know why I am telling him this. He is already mine, so why must I remind him of it like this?

“I know. Takano showed me the…” He moves closer to me, shifting comfortably.

The still water ripples around us. The moment is lost to the past. We carry on. Time picks up where it left off.

“I see. The reason I brought it up is…Well, we don’t really need it anymore, do we? You are already mine. I was thinking maybe…”

“No.”

“I haven’t even said my piece yet, Makoto.”

“I already know what you will say. That since I have your heart, we don’t need that piece of paper anymore. That we love each other and everything else is irrelevant. Isn’t that it?”

Once the spell is broken, the world returns to its mortal mechanisms. The impossible boy, born of a peach, always comes home. But he isn’t the same.

“And isn’t that true Makoto?”

“My l-…Sousuke…Please. I want to keep that piece of parchment intact. It feels…When I saw my name and yours, together like that, it felt certain. For the first time in my life, I was sure of something. It felt like…I want to belong to you, don’t you understand that? Please. Let me belong to you.” He is not pleading with me- he is demanding my compliance to this ownership.

What does he fear? He knows my love for him is absolute, unbound by words and contracts, does he not?

Does he doubt himself then? Does he fear that our love will last only as long as the ink on the parchment abides?

Home is such an elusive notion. A fiction we each of us concoct for ourselves, to seek refuge from the demons waiting outside- from our adventures.

If this is what he needs, then this is what I will give him. This certainty, this illusion of permanence, these binding words.  A spell uttered at the witching hour, making us both tangled in the same web, living the same story. Together.

Summer ends. Leaves fall. The world sleeps, awaiting renewal.

The snows will melt. The meadows will burst forth with dreams of daisies and hosts of heather.

Summer always returns. The impossible boy always comes home.

Isn’t that so?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flowers that represent Makoto, at least in Sousuke's eyes, are daisies and heather. Daisies normally stand for innocence, purity, and joy. In Celtic lore, heather stands for cleansing, renewal and purity. The simplicity and wildness of heather especially, evokes Makoto's nature.
> 
> Momotarō is a renowned Japanese folktale about a boy born from a giant peach.
> 
> Antinous was the favored lover of the Roman emperor Hadrian, deified after his death.


	19. Emeralds and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Showered with magnificent riches by an indulgent Sousuke, Makoto realizes he is missing something of his.

It has been months now. There is no talk of having me return to my room or my duties.

I woke up one morning last week and my meagre belongings had been brought to his room. _Our_ room, he says. _Our_ bed, _our_ bathtub, _our_ chairs, _our_ tables, _our_ mirrors with their carved frames of jade embedded with opals, _our_ silks and cashmeres, vases glittering with gaudy jewels, _our_ moonshine-woven dreams drifting above us as we sleep with our hands entwined, _our_ fucking as we join together and break apart over and over again- _our love_ , binding me to him so conclusively.  

He speaks of me as if I’m his stolen bride, whisked away from a doomed marriage to a scoundrel just in the nick of time. He races away with me through deep forests, crossing the threshold of the gloaming and into the tenebrous vastness of the night where bleak-voiced birds of the underworld hold council. He speaks of me as if he’s coined a bargain with the ferryman to fetch me from beyond, from across the river of lost souls, as if I _was_ lost- completely gone from this world- and he has breathed life back into me.

It’s stories we’re born into and stories we die of.

He surrounds me with luxuries. Towers of leather-bound books, reams and reams of thick parchment, pens of ivory and thick goblets filled to the brim with indigo ink.

At night when we are alone, he drapes me in strings of pearls and strands of gold and fucks me senseless. Cum and sweat and the finest rose oil stain our satin sheets.

He drowns my senses with lavender and musk. He crowds my vision with the venomous smoke of his covetousness, and weakens me. Burning pleasure sparks in my soul, setting my blood afire. A hunger that refuses to be sated. I twist and turn in my sleep until he has to take me again. After there is no more left to give. It is endless.

My days are masses of sickly sweet flowers. My nights are beads of glistening sweat amid sparkling ornaments he lavishes on me.

I am his most favored possession.

 

 

And then there is the ring on my finger and the delicate chain of rose-gold around my right thigh, making me throb with the dull ache of pleasure all day long and into the night.

The ring is his mother’s, he says. Beaten gold embedded with emeralds, resized to fit my ring finger, its inside carved with my name and his. He placed it on my hand in front of everyone. Nagisa clasped his hands and asked him if I was my lord’s bride. He laughed and said yes. Takano had blushed furiously at this unabashed declaration, but still smiled at me. Rei- strange, diligently serious Rei- frowned but relented when he saw my joy. And I was happy. I am happy. Happier than I have ever been.

These days dense with unthought-of joys, their minutes breaking into discarded seconds under the weight of our overwhelming desires- how long can such incense-laden dreams last?

The slim, slight gold chain chafes pleasurably against the delicate flesh of my inner thigh as he enters me- he put it on me after dark, with no one else watching. He drank wine out of my mouth that night, prising my lips open with a blunt, forceful thumb- pouring the burgundy liquid into me- sucking, drinking the overflow from between my lips; licking its sluicing streams as they ran down my chin. He came inside me, filling me up with himself, marking me his in every possible manner. And all I could do was lay on my back, panting, sighing his name, begging for more though my limit had been spent long before he was done with me.

This feral possession of both our bodies is like jarring music emanating sourceless from the heart of an ancient forest grove- echoing ceaselessly with the pounding hooves of satyrs. The echoing cadence of the distant drums matches the blood pounding through our racing hearts- primal, seething with the untiring machinations of the earth, turning, slithering, ripe with the seeds of decay- it festers inside my head like a fever dream. I’m caught up in its suffocating embrace- where I am now, it’s always night.

He surrounds me with things, owned and cherished, for me to lose myself in. There is so much- so much more than any treasure cave in any story I have ever read, and he has me drunk on its opalescent excess.

He thinks I won’t miss it. He thinks it’s just one thing among so many, so its absence will slip right past me. He thinks he’s tricked me, charmed me into distraction from the nightmares that sit in corners, waiting to slink back in when he leaves.

The book Haru gave me- the first time anyone gave me anything to keep, the first thing that bore my name without stipulating any conditions- I knew I shouldn’t have kept it with me like that. I knew it would make him envious, drawing out the darkness inside him. He does like to play the jealous lover. And I like to be possessed by him when he is like that- seething with furious want.

I slept with the book under my pillow at night and I read it with my tea in the morning. I couldn’t help myself.

I will not ask him where it went, and I will not ask him to look for it. His guilt is written in the way he refuses to meet my eye after he kisses me, coming home to me after walking in the woods alone for so long.

I will not berate him for it either.

After all, I am used to lost things.

I could be one of them someday, for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another late update. There isn't much left to go now, so I'm taking my time to make sure it ends the way I want it to. This a short chapter, and a bit heavy-handed I suppose, but I hope you like it.  
> As always, all comments and feedback are welcome, especially now that this fic is about to conclude. 4-5 more chapters should do it, I think.   
> Another update for this fic will follow in the next few hours hopefully.   
> Thank you for reading.


	20. Interlude: The Boy in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Nagisa POV.  
> After winter ends, Nagisa finds himself wandering the woods alone and witnesses something he shouldn't have.

This was the first winter Rei and I spent indoors, sitting beside a burning hearth while blizzards raged outside, with enough food to forget what it means to be hungry all the time, being looked after, being cared for. That is the most important, but Rei says it isn’t. But I think he’s wrong. Or maybe he just doesn’t understand it yet. I hope he will someday. I’m afraid he won’t, and I’ll lose him.

I miss being outside all the time though. I’m forgetting the names of flowers, the taste of mushrooms growing in the thickets after heavy summer rain. I miss having Rei beside me all the time.

In the winter afternoons, as the snow fell thick and heavy outside, I spent my time being read to by Makoto. I don’t know which of us found more comfort this way- huddled up together in as many blankets as I could find and wrap around the both of us.

He didn’t move around much at first. I did everything for him, and I liked it. Rei used to frown a lot and write letters. He wouldn’t let me see them. Makoto is teaching me to read and I’m pretty good now. I can read story books and some poems.

Makoto calls me his faerie foundling. He says I’m enchanted. He says he wants me to stay like this forever. When I told Rei, he frowned again.

Rei says Makoto changes the stories when he reads them to me. All the stories Makoto tells me are so happy. And nothing ever happens in them. No one goes anywhere. No one does anything. Just children who are kept in shining castles and everyone loves them and they always get what they want. But when he stops reading, he looks so sad. I stay with him after, and he runs his thin fingers through my hair and doesn’t talk at all. It’s only when Lord Sousuke comes back to the room, back to Makoto in the evening that I leave.

Rei doesn’t want to share a room with me anymore. He says it’s silly because we’re both growing up now. He says there aren’t any ghosts and to stop being a child and that I shouldn’t be afraid. But that’s not why I want to stay with him. He doesn’t understand. Not yet.

I know I’m not supposed to be outside on my own. But the snows have stopped falling and the sun is warm and bright again and there are new things everywhere, pale and green. The stream is gurgling and I know there will be flowers soon. And I know Makoto likes having flowers all around him. But when I ask him to walk to the woods with me, he sighs and says he’s tired. He’s tired all the time now.

He seems thinner too now. His cheeks are not so pink anymore. He used to go red all over when he laughed. He doesn’t laugh too much either. But he’s happy. I think. He still blushes when he’s with Lord Sousuke and he smiles, but the smiles look broken and I don’t know how to fix them. I asked Rei about it and he just looked at me and shook his head. Then he wrote a letter. I wonder who he writes to. Rei says I don’t have a good head on my shoulders and he’ll have to look after me always. And that’s good. I think.

Makoto writes too. But he doesn’t know that I know. I don’t think Lord Sousuke knows either. He keeps the pieces of parchment in a little box in his old room. And I won’t ever tell anyone either. Even though Makoto doesn’t ask me to keep secrets, I know he wants some things to stay hidden.

Makoto has pretty eyes. So do I, I think. I asked Rei if I had pretty eyes and he laughed. But I think it was because he meant to say, “Yes Nagisa, I think your eyes are pretty”. But he doesn’t say these things. He thinks it’s not important to say these things. He’s wrong, but it’s okay, because I already know what he means to say but never does. He doesn’t have to. Not with me.

I don’t think Rei likes Lord Sousuke very much, but he follows him around all day anyway. Rei says to shut up about it when I ask him why he follows my lord around all day if he doesn’t like him. He always says to shut up. But then he ruffles my hair and smiles when he thinks I’m about to cry.

Rei says he’s learning “matters of the estate” from Lord Sousuke. Makoto doesn’t call him “my lord” anymore. Just “Sousuke”, and he smiles every time he says it and so does my lord. I asked Rei if it was because they love each other, and Rei just looked at me a lot and didn’t say anything.

I wonder if Rei will let me stay with him when we’re older. I want to. I could be the same way as Makoto, I could make him happy and take care of him while he does important things and he could come back to me in the evening and we’d be happy together. But I don’t think he thinks about these things. But I can think about them for us both.

The woods are still hushed and there aren’t many birds about. They’re busy being warm in places where there’s never any snow, Makoto says. He says they’ll come back when the flowers do. Makoto says we’ll go where the birds go one day, just me and him. He says we’ll sail on a ship and see the desert and then come back home to Lord Sousuke and Rei. But he looks pale, and he never leaves the house, so I wonder if he can travel that far. I don’t think he can, and it makes me sad because I think he knows that too. But he says it anyway because he thinks it makes me happy. And it does.

He does things that make us all happy all the time.

I think he misses Haru. Haru hasn’t come to see in so long. Makoto says he’s busy with his studies and his work and he’ll come back with the summer rain and I hope he does. I think Rei will be pleased to see Haru too.

Closer to the stream, there might be flowers. I might even see rabbits if they think it’s warm enough to come out now. But I must be quiet or I will scare them off. The ground is hard but my footfall is soft.

There is someone else out here. I’m scared and I wish I’d told Rei I was going outside and he would have been antsy at first but he would have come out with me anyway. Then I wouldn’t be scared, but now I am. I’m sure there are ghosts here no matter what Rei says. Makoto says there are ghosts too, only they’re just sad and they won’t hurt us, not really. But still, I’d rather not see one.

But it’s still light, and the sun is still in the sky, so it couldn’t be a ghost. But I’m careful anyway.

Peering from behind a thick oak tree, I can see my lord pacing back and forth by the stream. He’s in his riding boots still, so he must have just ridden back from town.

I should call out to him. He’ll be angry at first, but then he’ll say it’s fine and we’ll walk home together and he’ll tell Makoto that he found a faerie child in the woods and brought him home and Makoto will laugh and hold me close.

But I can’t let him see me. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t feel like he should know I’m watching him. He has something in hands. It looks like a book. He looks at it and his face gets so dark- just like when I told Rei I accidentally spilled ink on his new shirt. But Takano said it was okay and Rei got a new one anyway. But he was still mad at me.

He raises his arm and I think he’ll throw it into the stream. But he sighs and he stops. Instead, he throws it in the hedgerow. He walks away, back to the castle, his hands behind his back, his shoulders slumped.

I want to know what was in the book that made him so angry.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Even though he’s surprised me, I know it’s Rei so I don’t jump at his hand touching my shoulder.

“Did you follow me?” It pleases me that he noticed me missing and came after me.

“Of course I did. You have a habit of wandering on your own. Now let’s go back.” But instead of taking my hand and guiding me home, he walks towards the stream and retrieves the book.

“What is it Rei?” I’m all curiosity as I run up to him, but he hides it from me.

“Hmph. I thought as much.” He ignores me and puts the book carefully inside his coat pocket.

“Is it Makoto’s?” I don’t know why my lord would throw away anything that Makoto likes.

“None of your business, Nagisa.” Rei grabs my cold hand in his gloved one and drags me away.

Takano gives us hot tea and sweet cakes.

I didn’t find any flowers for Makoto.

I don’t go to his room to say goodnight before I sleep.

After he thinks I’ve dozed off, Rei lights a small candle and writes a letter. I think I know who he’s writing to.

Makoto said Haru will come with the summer rain, but I think it might be sooner than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In terms of the fic's timeline, the attack on Makoto and Sousuke's trip happened in the autumn. Some time has passed now, and winter is over. There will be more time skips in future chapters.  
> I would especially like to hear what you thought about this chapter.


	21. Burning Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke and Rei have a heart to heart conversation. Sousuke wonders if he will ever be able to give Makoto what he needs.

My afternoon tea has gone cold and my pipe has long burnt out.

I can feel Rei’s agitation as he sits behind me, waiting for me to tell him what to do. Even though winter is over, it still gets chilly in the morning. The hearth-fire in my study is burning brightly, and the heat emanating from it is making me feel stifled, incapacitated, angry.

“I think this is it for today, Rei. Go out, take Nagisa for a walk, buy him some sweets. He must feel neglected without you.” I cannot keep the dejection out of my voice, however hard I try.

“He’s with Makoto, my lord. He will be fine. You cannot just pay me for today and not have me do any work. That wouldn’t be fair.” Rei has a strange sense of honour and I still have not gotten used to this arrangement he insisted on setting up.

I am tangled up in too many things all at once. It seems I am not trustworthy at all. It seems as if those I care about keep drifting farther and farther away from me the harder I try to hold on them.

So many contracts and documents to cement my affection. I really must not know how to love people.

That is what Rin told me, Before he slapped me and stormed off.

That I was only able to possess people- to own them and to subject them to my own desires.

I only thought about myself then. I thought he was being cruel because he was disgusted by my confession. I took those words as his rejection- sharp as knives, but ultimately lacking any weight.

Was he right after all?

“Rei, if you are so anxious about obeying me, then this is my order for today: Go play with Nagisa. Have you told him about leaving yet? You should be with him while you still can.” This boy is too wound up, already too eager to act like a responsible adult.

“I-err. He won’t like it. I haven’t told Makoto yet either…” When I turn around to look at him, Rei’s face has gone red and he’s twisting his fingers in agitation.

“The decision has been made Rei. You have written to Nanase and already finalized everything. You have to tell them both. The sooner the better.” I understand his need to improve himself, and I understand he must attend a proper school to follow in Nanase’s footsteps. But at the same time, I am unwilling to let him go. As much for Nagisa and Makoto’s sakes as my own.

“I know, my lord. I just…Nagisa wasn’t even willing to hear me out when I asked him to sleep in separate rooms. He’s too attached.” His voice doesn’t convey the annoyance he is trying so hard to feign.

“Shouldn’t you be together more often now? Before you go away? He will probably miss you more than you will miss him, you know.” I _should_ know. I have always loved more than I have been loved.

Or is that a delusion too?

I hold on tighter and tighter, afraid to let go, fearing that I will be discarded, sent off, abandoned. I am so afraid to be alone.

What if I was to rip up the contract binding me to Makoto? What if I tossed it into the flames? Would he still stay with me? Would he still allow me to love him?

Do I have the courage to find out?

Rei is so sure of himself- so sure of Nagisa and Makoto accepting his decision. His hesitation, this delay in telling them- it isn’t because he’s afraid they’ll try to stop him- it has more to do with bearing the pain of an inevitable parting alone, to spare them that tedious countdown to the day he has to leave.

But in his heart, he knows they will wish him luck, kiss his cheek, and send him off with promises to wait, to write. He is suffering alone so he doesn’t have to cause them distress.

“If you don’t want to tell them, I have to at least let Makoto know. He has to be prepared to comfort Nagisa, and ease him into the change.” It will not be an easy conversation, but it is one I cannot delay any further.

I have to talk to Makoto…

“If you think it’s for the best, my lord.” So he was waiting for me to take this burden away from him after all.

I never know what is needed of me. All I know is to take.

“Anything else?” Rei is standing by the door fidgeting nervously.

“Well…Please don’t be angry, but…I found this…” From his pocket he retrieves a small book and holds it out towards me.

Even if I pretend to be surprised, I know he is fully aware of my actions. This boy of thirteen has caught me out in all my envious immaturity.

“I see. How low you must think me, Rei. I’m sorry.” I already know he saw what I did. If he had just come across the book in the woods, he would have taken it straight back to Makoto.

“It’s not that. I- I think I understand how you feel. I would do the same…Maybe…If it was Nagisa, I don’t know…But I still think you should give it back to him. It’s important to Makoto.” He steps forward and places the book in my extended hand.

“I know. I’m sorry I stooped so low. Like a jilted lover. Do you think me foolish Rei?” I smile at him half-heartedly, hoping he’d treat me like the broken, jealous man that I am instead of “my lord”.

“Well…yes. I mean, Makoto loves you. Don’t you trust him? But he loves Haru too. And he loves me, and Nagisa. Even Takano, I think. Nagisa said…he said Makoto loves that book because it’s the first time someone gave him a present and asked him to be their friend. You shouldn’t have taken that away from him.” His honesty is more than I bargained for. I can only sit and stare at his determined little face.

“Did you tell him what I did?” I already know the answer, but I have to be certain.

“Of course not. I felt like I should let you return it to him yourself. No one else has to know, my lord.” He smiles anxiously at me, looking clearly relieved at my reaction.

“Rei. You know you don’t owe me anything right? I want you to rely on me. I want you to be able to build a future for yourself and Nagisa, so you don’t ever have to…” It is important to me that he knows this.

“I know. But I need to do this on my own. I need to be able to take care of Nagisa _on my own_. I hope you understand that. Please, in my place, spoil Nagisa as much as you want. Because once I can stand on my own two feet, I intend to do the same for him.” The purity of his love lights up his boyish face. If only I could have done this for Makoto. If only I could have saved him. If only I could erase the years holding us apart from each other, making him a stranger to me even as I hold him close to me every night.

“I understand, Rei. But know this.  When you are both ready to move on and start your own lives, I will lavish whatever gift I please on you, and you will have no right to refuse me.” Getting up to warm my shaking hands over the fireplace, I pat his head.

“I will not object at all. As long as you let me return to the estate and work off my education expenses.” Rei looks up at me brightly and pats me on the forearm.

“But I get to decide what kind of work you will do, and how much I will pay you for it.” I hold both his shoulders and fight the urge to hug him.

Before I can, Rei wraps his arms around my waist anyway, hurriedly utters a thank you, and rushes off grinning.

I should talk to Makoto now. I should confess my guilt and beg for his forgiveness.

But before I do that, I must get one thing out of the way.

The piece of paper binding him to me is in a black lacquer box with a single jade stone embedded in its center.

Before I have time to stop myself, it is in the hearth, curling up, turning to ash, lit up like a kingdom enwrapped in dragonfire in one of those stories Nagisa likes to hear.

“Sousuke. What is that? What have you…” Before I can stop him, Makoto runs to fire and scalds his fingers trying to retrieve what is left. When I grab his waist and pull him away, he breaks down, shoving me back with every ounce of force he can muster in his weakened body, falling on his knees, beating his fists on the floor, silent tears running down his bent face as he shivers all over.

“Makoto…” I kneel down next to him, easing my arms around him. He refuses to acknowledge my presence.

Why is it that every time I try to love him, I only hurt him?

Am I just an extension of his nightmare? Am I the last monster to be defeated so he can finally return home?

If that were true, I would turn my own sword against myself.

_If that were true…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After looking at some of the comments (all of which were very insightful and very helpful- and to which I will reply individually soon), I think it is important to give Sousuke this chapter to let him try and come clean. He definitely is not helping Makoto's current situation by acting the way he is, but Makoto's condition has more to do with the trauma he sustained in the woods than Sousuke's possessive behavior. He doesn't go out and stays in bed because he is afraid of what happened to him, especially because that incident with Handa brought back a lot of very painful experiences he worked very hard to suppress.  
> Makoto has never known what it means to be in a healthy relationship, and neither has Sousuke. These are two very damaged people trying to love each other, and finding out that mutual passion is not enough to keep a relationship going. I'm definitely more interested in exploring what happens after two people have confessed their love to each other and consummated their relationship. I prefer to examine the "happily everafter", how people make love last, rather than ending the story after their first "true love's kiss".  
> I know this chapter ended on a dismal note, but Makoto needs some kind of catharsis to return to himself. I hope you don't hate me after reading this.  
> And thanks so much to everyone who's bothered to read this fic- those who are relatively new to it, and those who've stuck around from the start to see how this story ends.
> 
> P.S. Just to be clear, Nagisa serves the role of an unreliable narrator in this fic. Rei wasn't writing to Haru to tell on Sousuke, though he has been updating him on Makoto's condition, because Haru asked him to. He has mostly been discussing details about his school and his education, because Haru has kindly agreed to let Rei stay with him while he attends a good school in the city. Sousuke rejected the idea of Rei going to a boarding school because his own experience was pretty shitty. Yes, Sousuke cares enough about Rei to actually have a civilized discussion with Haru about his future (without killing Haru in the process).


	22. A Curse, A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto finally understands what Sousuke means to him, and what he means to Sousuke. (Fluff. All the fluff).

A miasma clouds my eyes and blinds my mind. His hands around my waist feel cold- cold as death, cold as ice, cold as a stranger’s grasp. If I don’t get away from them, the gaping maw of oblivion will open up and devour me whole. My name burns and the foundation of my being crumbles to ruin with its disappearing script.

I feel like I am being erased.

His voice is distant thunder in the mountains. His words are echoes drifting through subterranean caverns, never reaching the light of day. The space where his arms encircle me is devoid of any presence. I am nowhere. Not anymore.

Without my name, I am nothing.

Everything is white, blank- a pristine absence of life, a field of impeccable snow. I should be frozen over, unable to feel, unable to breathe.

Then why am I still here?

My wrists burn and my heart pounds. How troublesome this body- so painful to leave it behind and disperse like dandelion seeds on the wind. I want to break myself apart in pieces. I think I could lessen the hurt that way- the constant ache that will not leave me- that keeps me anchored to this useless body, hindering me, tying me down, making me stay with him.

He will not let go.

The ice turns to fire in my veins.

His warmth suffuses me even as I try to run. The promise of his nearness intoxicates me, leaving my limbs leaden, too heavy to move. I cannot escape him.

As my breathing evens out and the grotesque roaring of blood in my ears dies down, I can hear my name being called out. But I don’t have a name anymore. How can I? I saw it turn to black smoke and white ash with my own eyes.

“Makoto, please. Come back to me. Please, Makoto.” When I regain my senses, he is holding me close, so gently. He has lifted me off the floor and is cradling me to him, seated in his chair. My tears stain his shirt, his fingertips against my face delicately brushing away the droplets still clinging to my eyelashes.

How many times will I have to repeat this scene before he gets tired of it? Of me? How many times before he leaves me on the floor, feeling sorry for myself, and walks away for good?

I think I already know the answer.

I will let myself be comforted like this for the rest of my life. I hold him in a trance. He is under my spell. I have cursed him, and no one can break it. No one.

“Why did you do it, Sousuke?”

“Why did you want to keep that horrid thing intact, Makoto?”

“Because…Because I wanted…I told you…I wanted to belong…”

“And I want you to stay with me because you _want_ to Makoto, not because you _have_ to. Do you understand that?”

“B-but…”

“Do you know how much I hated myself every single time I looked at that abhorrent piece of paper? Feeling that I could only keep you with me if I _owned_ you?”

“I don’t mind being owned by you, Sousuke.”

A heavy silence falls around us both. He strokes my cheek and puts his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. Being with him like this…He looks helpless, waiting for me to give him back his heart.

“Do you love me, Makoto?”

His trembling lips find mine before I can say anything, as if he’s afraid of my answer.

This sensation of his tongue savouring me, his grip tightening around me- I could spend an eternity caught up in this state and I would not tire of it.

We stay together this way for so long, the fire in the hearth burns out. There’s nothing left but blackened logs and the remains of the past.

I know he doesn’t expect a response from me.

I know he would stay in my thrall, a slave to my whims, even if I told him I hated him.

But I don’t hate him.

I take his rough cheeks in my hands and tilt his face to look at mine. His eyes are so beautiful. They were always so beautiful. Was it these eyes I fell for first, blue chasing green, inconstantly reassuring?

“I do. I love you. I do, Sousuke.”

His smile almost blinds me.

“If…Makoto, if that paper was so important to you, I can…I can have something else drawn up in its place.”

“Something else?”

It is so safe here in his arms. Even though I am almost as tall as he is, months of staying in bed- too scared to do anything, too frightened of losing what I have left to even swallow the food placed in front of me- have made me brittle and weak.

I feel weightless. But I feel safe.

“Something like a partnership contract, maybe? I will have to write to my lawyer, but from what I have read, it could be possible, you know. It just won’t be sanctified by a priest or anything…”

My heart suddenly flutters in my chest- a host of doves struggling to take flight.

“Are you…What are you saying? Do you mean…something like…”

“I already placed a ring on your finger, didn’t I?

He raises my left hand, and kisses the proof.

“That’s not possible, is it?”

“It is if I say it is.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, Makoto.”

“Like a marriage?”

“To make you my bride. Just like Nagisa said.”

“But that’s…”

“Ridiculous? Yes Rei said that too. He helped me with most of the legal details. That boy is smarter than he lets on.”

“Is that why you’re sending him to school in the city?”

“How do you know about that?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

“I suppose I do. Should I play the jealous lover then?”

“And forbid me from sending Haru any more letters? You can try.”

“Actually, I have been thinking…Why don’t you and Nagisa go with Rei? Help him set up? Stay in the city for a while. Let Nanase show you around the libraries, the museums. A change of scene seems to be in order, my love.”

“Already tired of me?”

He answers with a kiss. I want to take up all his kisses in my palms, pretty little flowers- roses and daisies and everything else in between- and place them in between pages of my books.

After we’re both gone-bones in ground- these kisses will linger here, haunting this place.

“As if I could ever live without you. When you return to me, I will have everything ready. I will bind myself to you for the rest of my life. _I_ belong to _you_ , Makoto. I belong to you now.”

And I believe him. I believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want Makoto to feel loved and safe and I kind of went to town with the fluff in this chapter. I wanted to shift the balance in the relationship at this point, and hand the reins over to Makoto, because he really does have so much power over Sousuke, and he is finally understanding that. He is finally willing to allow Sousuke to spoil him, and accept it, and feel that he is worth all the love and the care he is being given.  
> I always look forward to getting feedback, and discussing stuff with you guys, so please share your thoughts.
> 
> P.S. Sousuke has yet to return Haru's book to Makoto. He got caught up in the moment and proposed instead.


	23. Interlude: Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of letters exchanged between Makoto and Haru. These were sent and received before the events of the previous chapter.

My Dear Haru,

I find myself thinking of you all too often now that winter is here. Nagisa and I sit by the window, looking at the snowdrifts swirling in the north wind, and wonder about the bluebirds. He likes me to weave stories about them- where they fly to, why the leave, when they will return. I am afraid stories are no good anymore. At least not for me. I suppose he can see right through me, but he humors me, and I enjoy his company. He never asks for anything, and is simply content to sit by me and lend me his warmth.

I take refuge in the poems you gave me. I must know them all by heart now, I think. I like to see my name written in your hand. I like to imagine the things we would talk about when you come see me again. I wish summer would come sooner.

Winter in the city must be so different. Do they light street lamps at dusk as the fog settles in? Do you go out to the harbour after dark still? I hope you dress warmly. You can get careless when you are being contemplative. I cannot trust you to look after yourself, so I end up chiding you like a mother hen. I hope you do not think me too meddlesome.

Some ships never lay anchor again once they have drifted beyond the horizon. I want to see you. I want to see the ships sailing with you. I miss talking to you. I miss you.

I wonder if you remember the time we went walking in the woods. The boys strayed off, and we sat by the stream picking flowers. The way your deft fingers spun a circlet of daisies for me to wear. How Nagisa laughed and Rei blushed. You must take care of Rei. He pretends to be mature and in control of things, but he is so scared to leave us. He thinks it is his duty to grow up as fast as he can, so he can look after Nagisa. I have not told Nagisa yet. He will get upset and it will marr the little time they have left together before winter ends and the roads are safe enough to travel again.

Did I tell you about the kitten Nagisa found and brought home? One of the kitchen maids found it and threatened to throw it out, so he brought it to me. He was crying as if his heart would break at the thought of letting the ball of fluff go. So I promised to help him look after it. It is our secret now. We named it Kou. The sweetest ginger thing with dark eyes. It purrs contentedly when we give it warm milk. Even though I know Sousuke and Rei would not mind having little Kou around, Nagisa and I have kept her (I think it’s a her, and Nagisa agrees) hidden in Takano’s room. Even though he huffed and puffed at first, he gave in eventually. Nagisa he says he caught Takano and Kou having a deep conversation about weather patterns over a cup of tea and a saucer of sugared milk once. Apparently Takano blushed so hard his ears turned the color of ripe beets.

I asked you a question in my last letter. But you did not reply to me. Is there something you are keeping from me? What sort of secret are you protecting me from, Haru? You know my bare soul and all of its sins, so why are you hiding yourself from me?

I hate secrets. Sousuke has so many. He does not say anything. But I am afraid to question him. In fact, barely any words come out of my mouth when I am around him. I do not know what my relationship with him is anymore. I dream of running off to faraway places I used to read about in stories. But I cannot leave him either.

I am stretched too thin, Haru. I cannot afford to lose you too. Please do not hide from me.

I am sending you some cakes with this letter. They are not too sweet so make sure you eat them. And some tea as well. Takano says you will like it. It is slightly bitter, so you will need to put honey in it.

I count the days until you return to me.

Yours,

Makoto

P.S. Nagisa picked the last bluebells of the summer for you and saved them in a book months ago, then promptly forgot all about them. He wants me to send them to you now. He also wants you to know that he is learning to read and write, and when he writes to you, you had better write back. He also wants to know if you think Kou is a suitable name for a kitten.

 

 

*************

 

 

Makoto,

Even if I tried I could not hide from you. You see my heart through my eyes. I do not think this is something I can tell you in writing, that is all. Please do not lose your trust in me. I could not live with that.

I hope to see you sooner than summer.

I wish you would stop worrying about me catching a cold and start taking care of yourself. As much I am loath to admit it, Yamazaki cares for you. Letting yourself close up like this will only hurt you more, and I cannot stand to think of you being in pain.

Though I find Yamazaki brusque and mostly intolerable, his heart is in the right place where you are concerned. So tell him about the things that worry you, about the things that bring you to tears. After learning how much he loves you, I think he deserves to share your burdens. Let him carry some of the weight for you.

If I could, I would whisk you away with me on a ship. Take you away from everything that displeases you. But that is a pipe dream. You and I both know that. You would never leave him.

I am happy having your words and your secrets, Makoto. That alone is quite enough for me, believe me. I have your soul in my keeping, and I do not need anything else, anyone else.

Remember the little poem you sent me before? I showed it to a friend of mine, and he thought it was good. He publishes a literary magazine for our circle of friends, and he wants to meet you. I might bring him with me when I visit. Do not be angry, but he has taken it upon himself to publish your poem and wants to know if you have more. I expressly stated that if he intends to print it, it must be with your permission. Please say you agree. I will wait for your reply.

I had the cakes and tea you sent last night. They were quite good. How do you always know what I would like? It would be nicer if you were here to share these small pleasures with me.

Please heed my advice. I worry about you. Let yourself be loved. For you are loved, Makoto. Very much so.

Always yours,

Haru. 

P.S. I think Kou is a marvellous name for a small feline. Call me petty if you must, but I am quite pleased that I know about its furry little existence and Yamazaki does not. Thank Nagisa for the flowers. And for looking after you. Tell him all the stories you remember instead of keeping them locked up inside you. I love you, Makoto. Please look after yourself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I decided to write these, but I really wanted to explore what kind of things Haru and Makoto would write to each other. Because I do think they are essentially soul mates at the end of the day, and no one can understand either of them better than each other. The secret they are discussing in the letters is obviously Handa's fate. Makoto knows he just disappeared, but no one seems to know where he went. Haru wisely withholds the information, but it will probably come out when Makoto visits him in the city.  
> Makoto finally decided to break his silence and stopped pretending to be okay after receiving this letter from Haru. He came to Sousuke's study to have a proper conversation with him, but of course things took another turn. So Sousuke owes Haru more than he knows.  
> And where there is Makoto, there have to be kittens. I liked the idea of Makoto and Nagisa adopting one. And of Takano basically becoming its mother.  
> And finally, I think Makoto would be an ideal romantic poet (akin to Keats and Shelley etc.). Writing would be very cathartic for him, and he could use the metaphor-heavy medium of poetry to ease the burden of his past. It would be some seriously dark stuff, but very appealing nonetheless. I just wanted to give Makoto something stable to do that is all his own.  
> Do share your thoughts.


	24. Fleeting Darkness, Lasting Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke and Makoto spend some intimate time together before Makoto leaves for the city to visit Haru, and Sousuke confesses a few things to his lover.

The weeks have gone by tumultuously. The estate has been in an uproar since Rei formally announced his departure to the city. Takano keeps hiding in corners and dabbing at his eyes with his favorite lace handkerchief. Nagisa has been much worse.

If it were not for Makoto’s limitless patience and unparalleled negotiation skills, the entire castle would now be razed to the ground, consumed in flames, with all of us inside. To think that a child of 11 could contain such an immense amount of rage and destruction inside that impish little body.

Now that the initial anger has subsided, Nagisa has become ridiculously attached to Rei- even more so than before. He follows the older boy around everywhere, and has reverted to the old habit of sleeping in his bed, holding Rei’s hand the whole time. Rei appears relieved at this resumption of Nagisa’s displays of unabashed affection towards him, though he would never admit it.

Again, without wanting to, without needing to, I find myself thinking about Makoto. About what he was like when he was 11. Unbroken smiles and bright, clear eyes. Eyes that sparkled with happiness and glistened with tears at my joys and sorrows. Could I have the boy back one day, I wonder? Could I love Makoto enough to resurrect him?

A lifetime stretching before me now to find out the answer.

The bags are packed now, the carriage ready, the farewells said. In the morning, he leaves for the city with Nagisa and Rei. And when he comes back, I will bind him to me, hard and fast. I will never let him go again. Never.

But before we part, there are things I must do, words I must offer.

After seeing to the travel arrangements, I return to our bedchamber. A silvery moon hangs like a translucent orb in the sky. The windows are wide open and Makoto has already lit a few candles, their flames dancing madly in the breeze.

He is sitting on the spacious velvet-covered window seat, wearing a pale green silk robe tied loosely around his waist. One of my gifts that he seems to be rather fond of. His hair is still a little wet from the bath, and beads of water cling to his skin, slowly tracing their paths down his neck, pooling in the little dip between his collarbones. A book lays open before him, but the candle he’s carefully placed on the windowsill has long gone out. He is so wrapped up in his reverie, his head resting on his right knee, that he barely notices me come in. 

When I sit next to him, carefully- so as not to disrupt the waking dreams that have left such a serene imprint on his beautiful face- I realize that he is wearing nothing underneath the robe.

The silken fabric clings to his still-wet skin, and the hem is riding up enough for me to catch a glimpse of the gold adornment I have placed around his thigh.

I will burn in hell for an eternity and more for the thoughts that trace lewd circles around my mind at the sight of him.

He is shaken from his meditative reprieve only when my hand is already between his thighs. His face changes from an expression of the most innocent contemplation to a gasping mess in anticipation of the pleasure my fingers promise, invading his secret places.

He moves closer, leaning against me, letting me do as I please.

His voice is music. The heat coming off his damp skin infuses me with a lust I have never felt before. Soon I have him in my lap, have his cock rubbing against mine, stifling his moans with my tongue.

This descent into our mutual desire- it fills me with a daunting fear of an looming loss. I cannot define it. I cannot picture it. Yet it stalks me wherever I go. Makes me want to join my body to his as often as I can, to reassure myself of him, to remind him of my love.

Before either of us can find release in the urgent ministrations of my fingers, I have him pushed down on his back. He calls out to me as if from an achingly unbridgeable distance, begging for me to enter him, to assure him of my nearness, clutching at me with his slender hands. His robe has already slipped off his shoulders, leaving him dishevelled, exposed to my indecent gaze. My mouth finds his weaknesses, probing at his chest, the fragile skin of his abdomen, the hollow of his navel. My tongue toys with the cold metal around his thigh, the pale soft skin underneath, until he is thrashing around uncontrollably

His taste is the enchantment of rich wine in the sweltering heat of summer, the windswept flavor of briny seas in the spring. I drink him in until his arched back collapses under the weight of his pleasure. My mouth seeks his as I finally enter him. He tightens around me, deepening the kiss, pulling me into his body completely. I feel immersed in his being, lost to his wanting.

Spent, exhausted, drunk on his sweetness, I breathe him in as he lays on my chest, draped all over me, head against my heart. The fragrant wind of early summer cools our heated bodies, and he reaches out to take my hand in his. His hair is even damper than before, dripping with sweat and bathwater. The heady scent of rose oil and cum. It is always like this when we are together. I love this feeling more than anything else in the world.

“Will you miss me?” His voice is heavy with sleep and satisfaction.

I can keep him like this forever now, monopolize every inch of his body every waking hour, sleep with his heart beating next to mine. If only I could steal him away from everyone else, be selfish, be inconsiderate, hoard him like stolen treasure- I would be happy.

I could deify him. I could encase him in amethyst silks, adorn him with rubies. I could have a temple built of gold bricks to worship him in. He is the only faith, the only god I need in my life. I know as sure as I am mortal, that my soul will merge with his after I die. I cannot think of him as being separate from me anymore.

He must know everything I know.

“Makoto. I have something of yours that I should return.” The words cost me more than I could have imagined, but they must be said.

“I know.” The words he returns to me are kind, filled with love.

“I-I’m sorry. I get carried away when it’s you. You know that.”

“Mm hmm.” He sighs contentedly, adjusting his weight against me. He is so much lighter now than when he first came to me. I can feel his ribs against mine. I can trace the outline of his hipbones.

Transformed from marble to glass.

“It is in my study. Shall I bring it for you?”

“No. Stay here. I want to stay like this longer. Don’t leave.”

“Don’t you want to take it with you?”

“No. I just like sleeping with it under my pillow, that’s all. I already remember all the poems by heart.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

He laughs softly, his breath warm against my skin, and entwines his fingers with mine reassuringly.

“Sousuke, if I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”

“I would have to know what the question is before I can make that commitment, Makoto.”

“I see.”

I already know what is on his mind. I do not know if the answer I have will ease his burden or add more weight to it.

“He cannot hurt you anymore, Makoto. No one can. I have made sure of that. Isn’t that enough?”

“Never?” He sounds like a child, cold and frightened and alone.

“Never. Not ever. Not again. I will not let anything happen to you.”

That is the only answer he needed all along.

“Promise?”

“On my life. On my heart.”

The tears that fall from his eyes scald my skin. The penance I pay for my sins. I would be a sinner damned to an eternity in the seventh circle of hell if my crimes could abate his pain even for a fleeting moment, ensure his safety. I would do anything, anything for his happiness.

“I love you Sousuke.”

“I love you.”

“One more time. Before I leave.” It is not a request. He orders and I obey.

I carry him to our bed unquestioningly. As we make love, he clings on to me, kissing so deeply we both forget to breathe, until it becomes unbearable, until we have to let go, and not a moment before.

He will leave me for a month. I will wait for him for a month. And after that, we will never part again.

Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at writing smut, so thanks for enduring this chapter. Since it's going to be Makoto's birthday soon, I'm going to be a trashy fangirl and probably put up another chapter (about Makoto chilling with Haru in the city, having cake probably) within the next 24 hours. Depending on how productive I'm feeling.  
> I think Makoto probably already knows what happened to Handa, but he doesn't want to know the dirty details. There is a part of him that wants to exact vengeance on everyone who has ever laid a hand on him, but he's suppressed those dark urges. He doesn't feel bad at all knowing that Sousuke has acted on his behalf and killed Handa. He already guessed as much. So there is darkness in them both, I suppose.  
> Also, since I am way useless to actually make another playlist for this fic, if anyone is curious, I'd say anything off Beirut's Realpeople Holland album and definitely the Pompeii EP, "Swans and the Swimming" and "Beneath the Balcony" by Iron and Wine, "Fly" by Nick Drake, and "Between the Bars" by Elliott Smith will compliment the mood of the fic's second half. This is basically the kind of stuff I listen to while typing this up anyway.


	25. Of Sailing Ships and Drifting Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto spends time with Haru in the city, and Haru thinks about the ways Makoto's presence in his life has changed him. An unexpected guest shows up for a visit. (This chapter also introduces two familiar names in small-ish roles).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delayed update again, but a long-ish chapter (Haru's POV this time), so hopefully it will not disappoint. One of you commented about the possibility of knowing more about Makoto's past, so I'm going to begin tackling that rather tricky subject starting with this chapter. A second playlist for the fic will be put up over the weekend most likely (I suck at making playlists though).

Maybe it’s just the physician in me, but I cannot help noticing how thin and pale Makoto looks as he reaches for my hand, emerging from the carriage. But the worry pooling in the pit of my stomach fades at the sight of his radiant smile. His eyes close up, his lips curve like a half-moon, his face tilts, and his entire being exudes such warmth- he is bright as the sun. 

The boys tumble out of the carriage, Nagisa leading Rei out by the hand, running towards me. Surrounded by this whirl of affection, drowning in the chattering and the laughter, I can barely hear myself think.

I am not used to this. To having people around all the time. I do not feel the necessity for company. I do not like to depend on others. In fact, before I met Makoto, I have rarely found pleasure in spending time with another human being. I have very few friends, and I am perfectly happy with that.

Makoto rushes into my arms, embracing me like a child come home to his mother. I do not understand why holding him feels so right. I usually avoid physical contact with other people as much as possible without causing outright offence. I abhor it, in fact. But Makoto is like a part of me, a fled piece of my own heart drifting back into place, fitting in so perfectly against me as I return his embrace.

My valet helps their attendant carry the luggage inside. It mostly belongs to Rei, who will not be returning with Makoto and Nagisa. I wonder if I have made the right decision in offering to accommodate him. If truth be told, I only agreed to Yamazaki’s suggestion because I knew it would make Makoto happy. Because I knew it would give Makoto a reason to visit me. That it would give me a chance to see Makoto without the looming presence of that ghastly man.

But Rei is quiet and composed- someone much more likely to rely on himself rather than bother others. I do not think I have anything to worry about on his account. I have given him rooms in the east wing of my house, as far away from mine as possible. He will have to look after his own needs, since I only have one valet for my own assistance. Aiichiro is a quiet and reserved boy who does what he’s told and does not ask unnecessary questions. He understands my needs and knows his limits. We get along perfectly well.

I cannot say the same for Momotaru, the attendant accompanying Makoto and the boys to look after them while they travel. He appears to have been handpicked by Yamazaki to demonize me specifically. He has a shock of the most orange hair I have ever witnessed, and he already appears to have poor Aiichiro cowering in corners.

He still cannot outdo the hazardous ball of energy that is Nagisa. But somehow, Nagisa carries a light within him that never goes out, that does not infuriate me at all. It actually makes me smile. I will blame Makoto for this newfound tolerance. He has changed me. I turn into someone less closed up, less cynical when I am around him. As I show him to the guest room I have prepared for him, he clings on to my hand, smiling at me constantly.

Nagisa insists on sharing a room with Rei, and Momotaru (or Momo-chan, as Nagisa would have it) has already draped an arm across Aiichiro’s slightly shaking shoulders, demanding to be shown to his quarters. I already feel sorry for poor Ai.

After washing off the dusty weariness of traveling, Makoto joins me in my study for tea. I have a parlour somewhere in this sprawling house left to me by my parents- now long buried beneath the hard ground in another place across the sea- but I never use it. The study is sufficient for me. It is a compact and efficiently set up room, and I am used to having tea with Ai here in the evenings. I detest the idea of servants dining separately from their so-called masters.

As Nagisa, Rei, Momotaru, and Ai gather inside, it becomes abundantly clear that there is not enough room in my study for all of us. I have never had this many people in my house. It is a strangely unsettling feeling, but not altogether unpleasant.

Ai runs around flustered and pink-cheeked, dusting the rarely-used parlour so we can have tea there. With Momotaru and Nagisa’s help, he manages to set the place up beautifully in no time at all. Makoto insists on making the tea, and pours it out for everyone, asking preferences, pouring milk and adding sugar with those bird-bone fingers of his. Watching them move like pale phantoms amongst the glittering china, the pastel cakes, the steam rising off the amber surface of fresh-brewed tea, I am mesmerized. The noise and the laughter around me dissipates, and my eyes focus only on him.

This is dangerous. This is unwise. This is inevitable.

With all the talk, the comfort, the food- time passes by without anyone noticing. It is only when Nagisa’s head flops onto Rei’s lap, the smaller boy fast asleep, that the party breaks up. Rei has to carry Nagisa off to bed, and Ai agrees to let Momotaru help him clean up, still rather pink in the face.

Makoto and I stay behind, finding quiet comfort in each other’s presence. He asks me to read to him, and I oblige. It is obvious to me, with his eyes struggling to stay awake- stifling yawn after yawn- that he is delaying the hour we have to part ways and go to sleep in separate beds.

I have been so foolish not to realize this earlier.

“Makoto, would you like to sleep with me? I know you dislike being alone at night.”

He glows all of a sudden, relieved and happy.

“I know you don’t like being around people all the time Haru, I’m sorry, it’s just…”

I rise from my chair and take his hand, leading him to my room.

The intimacy we share, disrobing in the same space, changing into our night clothes, talking and laughing all the while- the innocence of it is overwhelming. Yet, if I were to share my life with another human being, this is _all_ I would want from it. This is _exactly_ what I would want from it.

He lies down next to me, under the same covers, and reaches out for my hand. We fall asleep facing each other, fingers laced up together. With me, he is so childlike, so sweetly demanding, and I cannot say no to him. To anything he wants.

While he remains in the city with me, we do all of the things we talked about before. Libraries and museums, parks and art galleries. His wonder at everything is a pleasure to behold. He caresses the spines of old leather-bound books as if holding a cherished lover for the first time. His eyes sparkle with awe at mysterious treasures from faraway lands, buried for years under the weight of burning sands. He reaches out longingly for the dazed array of colors in paintings he admires, barely able to hold himself back from touching the surface. He says he likes to imagine them as entrances to other worlds, other lives- where no one would know him, and he would be able to become anyone he pleases. He likes to watch people in the park, children playing with flowers, being fussed over by their mothers, his grip on my hand becoming almost painfully tight.

I take him to the theater one night to watch a kabuki play. He sits next to me, lips slightly parted, eyes glazed over, hands clasped together, lost in a tragic story relating the misfortunes of a nameless samurai and his heartless lover.

“One of my regulars was an actor, you know?” Makoto casually reveals bits and pieces of his past to me before we fall asleep. It’s something I am quite used to now.

“What was he like?” I hold on to his hand a little too strongly.

“He was nice. He used to bring me candied apples. He taught me how to paint my lips. He taught me how to dance. I liked it when he would visit me.” At times like these, I know he doesn’t want me to say anything to him. He just needs me to listen. And even though my heart breaks for him, I can do nothing more but stay next to him, breathing softly together in the dark, holding his hand.

A few days before he is to return to Yamazaki, I take him to the harbour after dark. We sit next to each other, his head resting lightly on my shoulder, watching the ships leave. The summer wind carries echoes of a hundred different languages- sailors and captains and cabin boys- drifting back to us.

“I wonder if they ever go back home. I wonder if they ever want to.” He sounds as if he would like to join them, learn their foreign tongues, and leave his life behind, losing himself in another life altogether. I place an uncertain arm around his waist, and he leans in towards me, seeking safety.

Sleeping next to him has become a habit. A dangerous habit. Getting used to his presence, looking forward to his nearness every night. This is not something I can claim as mine. This is not for me. _He_ is not for me.

Morning comes traitorously, the dawn light wakes him, leading him away from me. Thrice more the world will spin around, the sun will rise, and he will be gone away from me. I clutch at my chest, feeling an ache I cannot blame on any physical ailment. I have led myself astray, and now I must pay the price.

Makoto and I are still dressed in our loose trousers and robes when Ai runs in, followed closely by an overly excited Nagisa.

“What is it? Has Nagisa finally gone ahead and set the house on fire?” Humor has never been something I am comfortable with, but I find myself attempting it rather pathetically in Makoto’s presence.

“Um…No, sir. Not exactly. It’s just, you have a guest, sir.”

“Oh, is it Katsuhiro? He wanted to see you before you left Makoto. About your poems. But that’s no cause for concern, is it Ai?”

“It’s not him, sir. It’s…It’s a lady.”

“A lady?” I have no female acquaintances, if truth be told. I finally understand the confusion marking Ai’s face.

“Who…?” Makoto knits his eyebrows together, surprised.

“She’s already in the parlour with Rei and Momo-chan!” Nagisa is jumping on the balls of his toes, beside himself with excitement.

“Who is she? Have either of your actually bothered asking her that?” This is exasperating. Who can possibly waltz into a stranger’s house with such ease, taking over the parlour this early in the morning?

Nagisa is the one who blurts out the unexpected identity of the guest.

“It’s Lord Sousuke’s mother! It’s Lady Yamazaki, Mako-chan! She says she wants to meet you! To meet all of us!”


	26. A Pale Green Dress and a Broken Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duchess Yamazaki turns out to be nothing like Makoto expected, and her visit leaves him remembering things he would rather forget.  
> (Angst abounds. You've been warned.)

“It isn’t _Lady_ Yamazaki, Nagisa. It’s _Duchess_.” Ai lightly reprimands an unheeding Nagisa.

None of this makes any sense. Why would she be here? Is she here with her son? Is Sousuke here too?

No, that cannot be. If he was here he would already have me in his arms. He wouldn’t wait this long.

Then why is she here?

What can his mother want from me? She would know everything about me, about my mother, wouldn’t she?

I do not understand why I am suddenly afraid, anxious, unable to breathe.

The room spins around me, a swirl of muted colors, all blues and greys. The acidic panic making its way from my stomach to my throat refuses to abate. It takes Haru a good ten minutes, holding my hand and rubbing my back, to get me to breathe evenly again.

“Mako, you don’t have to see her. I’ll make your excuses.” His forehead is wrinkled with concern for me; his placid eyes focused on my face.

“No. No I’m fine, Haru. Sousuke would be disappointed if I didn’t see her.” I grip his hand firmly as he helps me stand.

“Hmmm I wonder…” Haru keeps looking at me intently, ready to catch me if I stumble. I feel like no matter how hard I fall, no matter how far, Haru will always be there to lift me back up again. If he stays with me, I can deal with Duchess Yamazaki. I can deal with anyone.

With Nagisa and Haru’s help, I manage to look presentable. My chest is still constricted. I keep twisting the ring on my left hand. It feels tight, restrictive. Something deep inside me- something that has been asleep since Sousuke first told me he loved me- that something is awake again. It’s thundering at the back of my head, telling me I should take the ring off.

I am ashamed of facing Sousuke’s mother.

Sousuke might think he loves me, might hold me close at night when it’s just the two of us, in that secluded castle with its looming shadows and wandering ghosts- but this is different.

How can any mother be happy to have her son bedding a whore? Claiming he’s in love with a whore?

Haru and Sousuke have made me forget myself. They’ve taken me out of my life and made a new one up for me to hide inside- a story written especially for me.

But not everyone likes to read the same stories, do they?

As we make our way into the parlour, Haru nods at me and lets go of my hand.

Duchess Yamazaki is an overbearing woman, dressed meticulously in deep blue velvet, stately and tall. Her features are strong and well-defined like her son’s, lacking a certain softness. Looking at her makes me nervous, makes me guilty, makes me feel less than I am.

Even though it’s Haru’s house, as soon as we are in her presence, it feels as if we have entered her domain. She doesn’t notice as I walk in with Haru, deeply wrapped up in discussing something with Rei while Momo stands to attention behind her, trying to look responsible.

“Ah, there you are Makoto! It’s good to see you again.” She shifts her attention from Rei to me, scrutinizing and sharp, though the smile on her face remains fixed in place.

I can see right through that smile. I have seen it so many times before. This mercantile gaze examining every inch of my body before my customers decided if it was good enough for a fuck, or something worse. The false reassurance that lured me in until it was too late to turn back. Not that I ever had a choice anyway.

I cannot tell what she wants from me. I am scared. I want to be with Sousuke, locked up in our room together, hidden from the world, from this woman.

Unthinkingly, I reach for Haru’s hand and he grabs on to it. Duchess Yamazaki’s eyes narrow as she follows this movement, lingering on the place where Haru and I are joined together.

“Well, and you must be Dr. Sasabe’s nephew! Haruhi, was it?” Her smile is like a shard of ice, poised to strike and sever.

“ _Nanase_. Welcome to _my_ home, Duchess Yamazaki. I see you have already made yourself _quite_ comfortable.” Haru returns her coldness tenfold as he leads me to an empty seat and takes the chair beside mine.

“Right. Well, Makoto, it is you I’m here to see if truth be told. Won’t you even say hello?” She is already judging my behavior, my appearance. I have already fallen in her opinion. I am not suited for her son. She will make him leave me. She will have me sent away.

“I’m afraid I’ve frightened you, haven’t I Makoto? There’s no need to be so agitated because of one old lady. Sousuke doesn’t know I’m here, you know. He only wrote to me a few days ago, telling me you were in the city. He knows I spend my summers here, and he wanted to introduce you to me. I should have waited for my son, but I was just so _eager_ to see you.” Everyone is quiet now, looking at me. And I am sitting here, my tongue tied, my throat dry, unable to do anything but stare at my hands, at the ring on my finger, tears starting to sting my eyes. How pathetic.

“Makoto, we don’t have to do this. You can wait until Yamazaki is here. It will be fine.” Haru rises and places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

This is not how I want this to happen. I cannot disappoint Sousuke like this. I know he will be hurt when he finds out I refused to even offer a simple greeting to his mother. I must do this.

“N-No. Haru, I’m fine. I’m s-sorry, Duchess Yamazaki. I don’t know what came over me. You must think I have no manners at all.” I can only mumble at her, fumbling foolishly for the whore-house charm that used to be my forte, which I have comfortably forgotten during the time I’ve spent with Sousuke, with Haru.

“Nonsense. Of course you’re nervous. I am the one at fault, coming here without so much as sending my visiting card to young master Nanase. But I simply _had_ to see you, Makoto! I couldn’t contain my curiosity.” Her voice is so brittle, its cadence leaves me shuddering with cold, as if I’m being buffeted about by the north wind.

I cannot fathom the purpose of her visit, and that terrifies me.

“How can I help you, Duchess?” I dress myself up in a broken smile, trying desperately to seem respectable. I must reek of my past to her, corrupting her son’s bed with my presence.

“Well, I think it’s more of a question of how _I_ can help _you_ , Makoto.” Shrouding her true intent in these falsely caring words, she reminds me of my place with such masterful ease.

“Is there anything _specific_ you had in mind for this particular visit?” Haru remains standing by my side, looking down at her. I often find myself wishing for his almost-callous courage.

“I did, as a matter of fact. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to speak with Makoto alone. It was a delight meeting you two- Nagisa, Rei. Such charming boys. One would never think they were merely a couple of thieving orphans when my son took them in.” Haru’s grip on my shoulder tightens at her words.

Rei’s cheeks go red, and Nagisa looks confusedly at his friend.

“I assure you, Duchess, we were never thieves.” Rei’s voice is soft and low, but it is firm. I can sense the tears he is trying to hold in.

Within a matter of minutes, this woman has us all defeated.

“Oh, my mistake, my dear. I didn’t mean any harm by it. If Makoto’s presence here proves anything, it’s that anyone can be reformed. Isn’t that so?” Her hard grey eyes return to my face, enunciating a silent challenge that I have neither the confidence nor the strength to respond to.

“Ai, take Rei and Nagisa out to the park. Momo, go with them please. Makoto and I will meet you at the corner café soon for breakfast.” Haru issues a curt order, and everyone hastens to obey.

If he was not here with me right now, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself together.

As soon as the rest of them leave, Haru returns to his seat.

“Now then, Duchess. What is it that you need to say to Makoto?” He is impatient and angry, reaching out for my hand, clasping it firmly in his.

“What is the relationship between the two of you, might I ask? Forgive me if I sound intrusive, but given your past, I have every right to be suspicious, don’t I Makoto?” This is not at all the kind of woman I imagined when Sousuke told me about his mother.

“I am his friend. That is all you need to know.” Haru sounds furious now, and I’m afraid that if I don’t intervene, he will manually remove this woman from his house.

“I am sure you have a good reason for wanting to see me. I can understand that you’re not happy with me being in your son’s life. Believe me, I know that. So if we get this over with as soon as possible, I would really appreciate it.” I cannot afford to show her any more weakness. She already has me pinned against a wall, helpless as a wingless bird.

“Well, you are quite wrong about that Makoto. Why would I be unhappy with you? I handpicked you for Sousuke. You are exactly what he needs, so I am quite pleased that he has you in his bed. For now.”

“I-I don’t understand…”

“I came here today to talk about your past. To remind you of it, rather.”

“I see.”

“Here. This is for you.” She points at a small trunk beside her chair, rusted and battered.

“W-what is that?” Uncertainty sends a tremor of fear down my spine.

Haru quickly picks it up and brings it to me, placing it at my feet, kneeling before it.

“Do you want me to open it Makoto?” He looks up at me, confused and a little bit apprehensive.

“I…”

“It really isn’t anything to be scared of. It just holds a few things from your past, Makoto. Before you started sleeping with strangers for money. Go ahead. Open it.”

I nod shakily at Haru and he lifts the latch open, laying the contents bare before my eyes.

I do not recognize a single thing it contains.

A shabby pale green dress of silk and lace. A worn out, patched up teddy bear, filthy and stinking of moth balls. A wooden rattle, inexpertly painted with green and white stripes. A few books, their spines worn out, the words faded beyond comprehension.

Why don’t I remember any of these things?

Why has she brought them here for me? What could be the purpose of this?

Every word she has spoken since her arrival has been tinged with poisoned kindness. This is the same. This is a reminder of who I was, where I came from. How broken I am now. How irreparable.

“I-I’m afraid I don’t remember any of this, Duchess.” I reach for the teddy bear, twisting its lifeless limbs with my fingers, trying to think of a time when I would have played with it.

My memory is a river flooded with the stench of bloated corpses, decayed beyond all recognition. I cannot recall anything right. Nothing at all.

“I thought you wouldn’t.” She sounds pleased with herself, almost triumphant.

“Then why the hell would you bring these to him?” Haru is still looking at the contents of the trunk, trying to piece together some kind of rationale for Duchess Yamazaki’s actions.

“You have nothing to worry about from me, Duchess. I know my place. The day your son bores of me, I’ll vanish into thin air. You won’t hear from me again. I won’t leave anything behind…” Even thinking of being without Sousuke’s love leaves me ripped apart inside- my heart slashed with a blunt blade, ragged and bloody. But I will not cry in front of her. Not her.

“I am glad we understand each other, Makoto. I knew you were a smart boy.” She is no longer smiling. She looks at me with a mixture of disdain and pity. I despise this look.

I hate being here. I hate feeling like this. I want Sousuke. I want him to hold me. I want him to tell me it will be okay, that no one can hurt me anymore. I want to believe his promises. I want him to hide me away forever.

“You may leave, Duchess. I think I have had enough of this visit now.” Haru stands up again, his voice shaky with suppressed hatred.

She ignores him entirely and keeps looking at me.

“Do you know who your father was, Makoto?”

“One of your vassals. He died when I was still a baby.”

“No. He wasn’t. That was a lie your mother fed you. She always lied, that woman. She got what she deserved in the end too.”

What is the point of these words now? Would it make a difference who they were? When they’re both dead and gone now? When I never had them when I needed them? When I have already been killed over and over again, on my own, with no one to love me, protect me, keep me safe?

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Makoto? And what about that ring on your finger? Wouldn’t you like to know where it came from?”

No. I want to scream at her. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything. _No. No. No._

“He wasn’t exactly a nobleman, but he was no commoner either, your father. Your mother never did know her place. Pale skin and a pair of pretty green eyes like yours, and she thought she was acting out a fairy tale. She seduced your father while he was visiting our estate for a few days. A naval officer. He never knew she was pregnant when he left. Never came back for her either. I wonder if he’s still alive somewhere.”

No. I do not want to hear this. She is lying. She is lying. She is lying.

“Didn’t know that did you, Makoto? Did you know she tried to get rid of you? It didn’t work either. She cursed you on the day you were born. She hated you. Did you know that?”

“No. Y-You’re lying. She never…She didn’t…”

“I want you to leave. This is my house. I won’t let you do this under my roof.” Haru’s voice sounds jarred, distant, fading away from me.

“Oh, but she did. How much of her do you remember from your childhood? Not much, I would suppose. You were always left to your own devices, wandering around where you didn’t belong. Do you want to know why she was thrown out Makoto? That is my favorite part of the story.”

“W-Why…”

“She was fucking my husband, just like you’re fucking my son. This ring, he gave it to her, you know. Emeralds, like her green eyes. I didn’t care much for what he gave her, really. I didn’t care much for my husband at all, or what he got up to. But under my roof, in the bed I was forced to share with him. That I could not forgive. . My husband watched your mother leave. Didn’t bat an eyelash. I wish she would have taken you with her when she drowned. I told Takano and Sousuke some pretty lies about wanting to save you. They’re convinced I am your benefactor, you know”

No. No. No. No. No.

“I had this ring ripped from her hand while she screamed and begged for mercy. She didn’t even look for you. You just found her crying, and followed her, begging her to stop. I dare say you were a hindrance to that lovely little story of doomed love she had written out for herself.”

“Then why don’t you have me thrown out too? Why are you letting me be with your son?” I’m numb. All over. Frozen to my core. Nothing matters anymore.

“Because my son likes broken things. He likes to fix them. The more broken you are, the happier he’ll be trying to put you back together. It’s his hobby. So I gave you to him. When he’s done playing with you, he’ll throw you out. I wonder when Sousuke will tire of you.”

“You’re wrong about your son.” Haru’s voice is strained but determined.

“Am I, Nanase?”

“He loves Makoto. You have no idea what it means to love someone, you horrid old harpy.”

She laughs bitterly at Haru’s insult, waving it off like a bothersome fly buzzing about her.

“Now I’m sure you’ll keep this between the two of us Makoto. This little meeting. Sousuke doesn’t need to know does he? Not that he’d believe you, anyway.” She gets up to leave, gathering the folds of her dress about her meticulously.

She pauses to look at me, her expression a little remorseful at the way I am shaking, tears flowing freely down my face.

“I’m not really that horrid, Makoto. I just love my son very much. I honestly thought he would get bored with you sooner, you know. If I had a choice, I would have you returned to that foul cesspit you came from. If it were up to me, I would probably pick someone more like Nanase here to share my son’s life. But alas, Sousuke is as headstrong as I am. When he came to visit me, it was clear that he had made up his mind to keep you. And this pseudo marriage contract he’s had prepared for you… Hmph. I never did think it would go this far. But here we are. So I thought it was a good idea to remind you where you come from. And now, I will leave. Surely I have long outlived my welcome. Charming little house, Nanase. Thank you for your… _hospitality_.” She sneers at us both before walking out of the parlour.

Haru doesn’t say anything to me as he puts his arms around me, holding me tightly, trying to calm me down.

He is talking hurriedly, cursing the entire Yamazaki clan.

I cannot take my eyes away from the broken things in the old trunk.

I remember that dress now.

She looked so pretty when she wore it, my beautiful broken mother. I brushed her hair and she giggled like a little girl. She was happy then. I was happy too, I think. She pulled me up and spun me around the room like a rag doll, singing about summer rain and a lover across the sea. She must have loved me then, at least in that moment.

She must have loved me.

But why did she leave me, then?

Everyone leaves me.

Haru will leave me one day, won’t he? And Sousuke…

I will always be alone. People like me are always alone.

This will end soon, and I will be back in the gutter.

Why should I wait for it end?

I won’t be able to stand it. I won’t be able to take the pain if Haru ever turns his back on me. If Sousuke gets bored of me.

This story is not for me. People like me don’t get to have stories that end in happiness.

I smile at Haru, letting him know I will be fine.

And I _will_ be fine.

I just have to leave here. I have to go away. Like my mother did. Far away.

They’ll forget me soon. Just like I forgot myself.

But I don’t have the strength to let go of Haru. I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want to disappear into Haru, vanish from sight, cease to exist, end this suffering.

I am so tired now. Of everything. Living out this life of contradictions has tired me out.

“Makoto, promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

_I cannot promise you anything, Haru. My words mean nothing. My words are worthless. My promises are a whore’s lies._

“Makoto, please.”

_You should toss me into the street, Haru. Wash your life clean of me. Nothing, no one, can put me back together. Not really. I let you think I was okay, I let Sousuke think he had fixed me. I had to. Because I’m selfish, and I want to keep you both with me. I keep trying, I keep trying, I swear, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works anymore._

“You have to promise me, Makoto. Promise me.”

Sousuke. I want Sousuke. Why isn’t he here with me? He said he’d protect me. He said he’d keep me safe. He said no one would hurt me anymore.

But it hurts all the time. It always has. I just got good at pretending it didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Haru. I’m sorry. I’m no good. I’m sorry.”

“Makoto. Stay here. Stay with me. Please. Stay with me.”

His unmoving blue eyes are clouded by tears. When his lips meet mine, everything turns to pure, crystalline light. He tastes like cool spring water. His love is undemanding, free of want, free of desire.

I want to hide inside it. I wish he would run away with me. Far away.

“Let’s go watch the ships tonight, Haru.”

“Whatever you want, Mako. I will always be here for you. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this chapter, I guess. I hate myself too.  
> Also, the kiss between Haru and Makoto. That's a bit tricky, but I had been planning it for a while now. I want to make it clear that while Haru feels love for Makoto, and it is romantic love in a way, he does not desire Makoto physically. After Duchess Yamazaki leaves, Haru knows Makoto needs physical comfort, and the kiss is his way of trying to provide it, especially because he senses that Makoto needs Sousuke at this particular moment more than he needs Haru. He loves them both, and Makoto expresses and feels affection physically, especially when he needs reassurance.  
> Also how's about Sou's mom doing a 180 and actually not being so great? I had fun writing her as a manipulative person.


	27. A Hymn for the Lost, A Song for the Defeated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruka helps Makoto deal with the consequences of Duchess Yamazaki's visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Haru POV chapter. Angst intensifies. If you're looking to be happy, stop now. In fact, light your electronic device on fire and walk away.

He will not stop shaking.

Somehow, I manage to get him back upstairs and into the bed we have shared for almost a month now.

He does not cry. He doesn’t say a word. But his body is trembling uncontrollably.

And I have no idea what to do.

When my parents died, I was too young to understand what absence meant. What love stood for. I didn’t cry when they were buried. All I felt was an emptiness as vast as the ocean. Fingers pointed and voices whispered. They said I was unnatural. That I couldn’t feel anything. That I was all _wrong_.

For the longest time I believed them.

I could never understand what it meant to depend on another person, what it meant to want another person to depend on you.

Until Makoto.

I used to close myself up like a forgotten book resting at the back of the shelf, gathering dust, ignored and unnoticed.

But when I saw him, when he spoke to me- it felt as though he reached out for me and picked me up- washed away all the neglect and the loneliness- learned my words and ways. And now there is no going back.

He needs me now. He needs me to fix him. And I can’t. I don’t know how.

What do I say? What do I do?

“Makoto? Are you…”

He stays motionless, sitting in my bed, arms wrapped around his knees, leaning forward, looking into nothingness. His body wracked with an unseen upheaval.

No words leave his still mouth. No tears spill from his darkened eyes. Silent and unmoving as the lightless heart of the deepest wood.

If only I could pour the poetry he has lent my life back into him, to revive him, to heal him, to _free_ him…

Sitting down noiselessly beside him, I hold him in my arms.

A shiver passes through his stiff body, and he relaxes against me, unclasping himself and clutching on to my arm.

“Haru, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? It was that horrid woman- that witch, that awful pox on humanity- that should be sorry.”

He laughs briefly through his tears at my impotent anger. I should have done something. I should have thrown her out before she could pour that poison into Makoto’s ears.

“I had a feeling she would do something like this, Haru. I…I forgot Sousuke had a family, you know. I forgot all about the history we shared. I thought it was just the two of us now, left alone to find comfort in each other. I thought I could dismantle my past and learn to live all over again. I forgot…I forgot all about myself.”

“Makoto, it’s going to be okay. Don’t let her get to you.”

He is lost to his own miseries. I cannot get through to him.

“It’s without any meaning though, isn’t it Haru? I can try all I want, but I cannot wash myself clean of what I have been. I think…I think Sousuke sees me as someone I’m not. As someone I haven’t been in a long time. I feel guilty when I am with him, Haru. I feel like I am deceiving him. Letting him erase the years that stand between us. I-I can’t do it anymore Haru. I cannot.”

“You don’t have to. There is nothing wrong with you, Mako. There is nothing wrong with you the way you are now. Nothing at all.”

“I think he wants me to be the boy I was before…Before I became _me_ , Haru. And I’ve tried, you know. I tried so hard. To be that way again. But it won’t work anymore. I keep trying. And it hurts, Haru. It hurts to know I can’t be what he needs me to be. If it wasn’t for you Haru, I would have…”

“Please don’t, Makoto. I won’t be able to bear it.”

“I’m sorry for being so weak, for having you see me like this. I’m sorry for…me.”

I can only hold him closer. If he keeps talking this way, he will break both his own heart and mine.  

“Makoto, I wouldn’t care what you have done and where you have been if I was Yamazaki. I don’t think he…I think he just wants to make you happy. Talk to him when he comes here. I think you should talk to him.”

“No, Haru. Don’t…Don’t make me. I can’t face him. I don’t have the strength…Not anymore…”

“I will not make you do anything you don’t want to, okay? I will protect you, I will hold you, I will do anything you want me to Makoto. But as much as it pains me to say, I think you need to tell Yamazaki how you feel. He should _know_ , Mako.”

“But Haru, you understand what he would never be able to. You _know_ that I cannot really be…happy. I feel like I don’t have to wear a mask around you. I feel…You see the parts of me that are rotting, you see me at my worst and you…I cannot explain it. I feel like I don’t need words or gestures when I’m with you. When it’s just the two of us…Haru, I feel like I can just _be_. I’m sorry. How troublesome I am. I can’t seem to get anything right.”

“Makoto…That is not true. You have not done anything wrong. You did what you had to. You survived. You are so…Beautiful and pure and kind. Nothing can change that, Mako.”

“I wish I could believe you, Haru. I want to believe you.”

“Makoto, I love you. I love every bit of you, every minute of your life, every false step, every mistake, every word…Don’t hate yourself like this. Please.”

“But I…I cannot remember Haru. Why can’t I remember? Before. When there was still some light left. There are bits and pieces. Of _him_ , mostly. I only saved the memories that connected me to Sousuke. I got rid of everything else, Haru. I can’t remember much about my mother. Nothing substantial, nothing good. There are fragments, but I can’t put them together at all.”

“I understand how you feel. I…I try to think of my parents- the way they were, the way _I_ was when I was with them, when I was loved by them. I _know_ , Makoto. It is _not_ your fault.”

“But I remember everything else Haru. I remember what came _after_. The faces, the way they touched me, held me, hurt me. I enjoyed parts of it too. I…I didn’t have a choice, but some of the customers…Some of them were kind. I got used to it after a while. I even looked forward to their visits. There was a sailor…He’d come see me once a year, when his ship laid anchor at the harbor. He brought me gifts a few times, and told me stories. I liked to hold him and hear his voice. I think…If Sousuke knew, he’d…He would hate me, Haru. I keep waiting for the moment in which the veil lifts and he _sees_ me. Really sees me the way I am, not the way he thinks me to be. I would not be able to bear it, Haru. If he threw me away. I was scared he would before. And it hurt so much I thought I’d die.”

His face is stained with tears now, and his voice is trembling with a suppressed fear.

“Haru, I am a coward. I cannot go back to him. I will not. Don’t make me.”

“Makoto…”

The sound of doors opening and voices chattering downstairs breaks the spell of secrecy binding us both up in its entangled threads.

Makoto slips away from me and washes his face with an easy grace, using cold water to cleanse away the redness from his eyes.

The way his smile slides back onto his still face is enthralling. I feel like he is putting on a performance. Getting ready to step onto the stage and utter a perfect monologue.

The only way to read the defeat etched into his soul is to notice the slight slump in his shoulders, the way he holds his palms open, fingers stretched apart- trying not to miss the feeling of having something certain to hold on to.

In the evening, we walk to the harbour with the boys. Makoto laughs with Nagisa, pointing out the ships he likes, talking happily with Ai about the good weather, the chance of rain.

“Is…Is everything okay with Makoto?” So I’m not the only one reading the signs. Rei seems as unconvinced by this impeccable performance as I am.

“I’m afraid not, Rei.”

“Will he go back with Lord Sousuke, do you think?”

“No, Rei. I don’t think so.”

“Oh…”

The sun sets over the horizon, and the water glimmers and shines in its retreating light.

There is a distant look in Makoto’s eyes- a longing for impossible things. And suddenly I feel cold. Cold and frightened. Like a small child. Helpless, abandoned. Numb, so very numb. The way I felt after my parents died.

“Come away now, Makoto. Let’s go home.”

Without looking at me, he slips his hand into mine.

I make him drink warm milk mixed with a hint of laudanum, and hold his hand until he sleeps.

 

 

Morning comes with gusts of wind and torrents of rain.

We stay in my bed chamber as Ai lights the fire, and everyone gathers around for tea and breakfast.

Nagisa is sitting by the fireplace, rummaging through the box of old things left by Duchess Yamazaki.

“Was this yours, Makoto?” He lifts up the teddy bear, dangling it by a shabby leg.

“I suppose so, Nagisa. But I don’t remember it.” Makoto smiles at him, his hands shaking as he puts down his tea cup.

“I doesn’t _feel_ like it’s yours Mako. It feels like it belonged to someone else.”

“I think you’re right, Nagisa.” Makoto’s voice trails off as Rei takes the trunk away from Nagisa and carries it outside, frowning.

Rei is a long time coming back, and when he does his face looks apprehensive.

“Can I talk to you, Haruka? Outside?” He stands at the door, seeming anxious.

I let him lead me downstairs, into the parlour, where Yamazaki is pacing the floor in a state of agitation.

“When did you get here? I didn’t hear…” This is going to be difficult.

“I knocked. No one answered. Probably because of the storm. I let myself in, seeing as the door was open. Where’s Makoto?” He wastes no time getting to the point.

“Upstairs. In my room.”

“Why?” His eyes narrow, displaying cold suspicion.

“He sleeps with me, that’s why.” There is no use leading this man around the truth. It is better to get to the point.

“I want to see him. _Now_.” His fists are clenched, his jaw stiff.

“I’m afraid you cannot.” I have to let him know the truth. He deserves that much.

“You are trying my patience Nanase.”

“You can thank your mother for that, Yamazaki.”

“My…What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“My lord…Your mother…She came to see us. Well, to see Makoto.” Rei walks up and stands between us, facing Yamazaki.

“She called Rei and Nagisa thieving orphans, and I do not think it would be appropriate for Rei to hear the things she said to Makoto.” It will be easier to tell him Makoto is done with him. That he should walk away and never come back. That Makoto is happier with me, that I love Makoto more than he ever could. But that would not be right.

Making Rei go back upstairs, I tell Yamazaki all about his mother’s visit, show him the things she left for Makoto.

Unable to withstand the reality of the situation, he sits silently for a while, refusing to meet my eye.

“And Makoto refuses to see me?”

“I’m afraid so.”

I never thought I would see Yamazaki show me any weakness. Yet he is before me now, his face contorted in pain, tears in his eyes.

“I will not accept that. I have to see him. You cannot stop me, Nanase.”

“If you force yourself on him now, you and I will both lose him. Is that what you want?” I have to share my fears with Yamazaki. He must know how serious this is.

“You cannot mean that…Surely, it cannot be as bad as that, can it?” His face reflects the fear I feel deep in my soul.

Rei walks back inside, confused and a little hurt, clutching something in his right hand.

He walks over to Yamazaki and extends his palm.

“What…” Yamazaki looks up at him, going limp at the sight of the ring Rei is holding out for him. Beaten gold. Glinting green with emeralds.

“I…I told Makoto you were here. He’s been so sad…I thought he’d be happy to hear that you were here. I’m sorry…He just…He told me to give you this. And to tell you he’s sorry. I-I don’t understand…” Rei stumbles over his words, lost and distraught.

Yamazaki gets up slowly. Eyes fixed on the floor, he takes the ring from Rei’s hand, clutches the boy’s shoulder for support, steadying himself.

He leaves without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. This chapter turned out to be mostly about Makoto being introspective and long-winded, but I feel like it was inevitable. Next up (and soon I hope) is Sousuke confronting his mother about the mess she made.  
> Again, I am sorry.


	28. Monsters and Whores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke has two encounters after leaving Makoto- one expected, and one unexpected.

The rain has me soaked to the bone.

The dim sky of the city- filth on the streets, grime on the houses- and above it all, the murky clouds, washing the world with grey, seeping it of all color.

I would want green all the time if I could have it. Everything, everything green.

I should toss the ring out, after what Nanase has told me. But I need to ask her first.

But before I talk to my mother, there is another whim of mine I must see through.

Turning into a narrow alley, seemingly abandoned, I make for the large brick house looming at its end, black curtains draping every window.

It is the place Makoto came from. 

I have been here before in my youth. A few times. Though I no longer recall the boy's face, let alone his name. 

It was not Makoto, though. Of that I am sure.

If it was him I fucked, I would remember. If it was Makoto, I would remember every detail. I _know_ that. 

I remember the secret knock, the communication that gains me entry. It is not the most respectable whorehouse in these parts - if indeed there could be such a thing- but it has its own, _particular_ charms.

As I am guided inside, the dull reddish lamplight distorts my vision. A thick smell of rose incense drifts heavily, making my head pound. And through the haze, I can make out the host of pretty boys walking around in sheer robes, pink bits peeking obscenely through the transparent white fabric, a few already erect, already glancing my way.

An image of Makoto in such attire takes shape inside my mind, his cock glistening wet, dirtying the see-through pearlescent cloth of his robe, writhing around, covered in someone else’s cum. A bestial mixture of jealousy and lust writhes around in the pit of my stomach like a ravenous serpent.  

The attendant settles me into a private area, with velvet cushions lining a plush carpet, and goes off to summon the lady of the house. I have been made to change into a silk robe beforehand, to make things easier.

“The young lord Yamazaki. We did not expect you back after handing over one of our most cherished flowers to you? Already bored with Makoto?” The brown-haired woman eyes me curiously, and a little apprehensively, scared of what I might say to her.

“A change of scene was required. Mak- Your _cherished flower_ is fine, so you can stop looking at me as if I’ve murdered him and thrown him in a ditch somewhere. Just looking for something with a more, ah, _sinuous_ flavor, shall we say?” Even though I have distanced myself from the depravities of places such as this, the memory of them flows back naturally to me. I remember the way this game is played still.

“Anything particular in mind, my lord?”

“Why don’t you recommend something, Madam Miho?”

“How about Kisumi, then? You enjoyed him last you were here.”

“Right…Remind me who he is again?”

“He has lovely hair. A most unusual color. And the lips of an angel fallen from heaven. He was friends with Makoto, you know.”

“He’ll do. I will pay whatever you want, so long as no one interrupts us.” I am glad this woman understands I do not have the patience for any underhanded ploys and word games right now.

After talking with Nanase, I have realized that need to know more about Makoto. The Makoto who lived without me for so long. The one who…fucked strange men. Fucked God knows how many strange men. A vessel for the debaucheries of others.

I need to understand _why_ I am in love with him.

Being isolated with him in that far corner of the earth has been a pleasant dream. But I must face reality now.

Yes he was a whore. He had a life in between, on his own, which I know nothing of. A life that is killing him slowly. And I feel like one of the culprits now, one of the faceless murderers whose hands are red with his pure blood.

But he is not pure.

I have made up a dream for us to dwell inside, and rewritten his past without asking his permission.

I love him. I do. But I need to know if I can love _all_ of him, past and present.

“Tall, dark, and angry. I remember you, young lord Yamazaki.” A sultry, laughing voice reaches me from across the room. The boy- he must be around Makoto’s age- is wearing a pinkish silk robe to match his hair. His eyes are purple, like the glow of twilight, sparkling with mischief.

“Kisumi, was it? N-No there is no need to undress.” His robe has already slipped off one ivory shoulder.

“Oh? One of _those_ , are you? Want to see me get all filthy with my clothes still on? Want me throw up my arms and pretend to resist?” He glides towards me with such sinful grace. Despite the pain in my heart, my groin stirs, ready to betray me.

“ _None of that_. I will get straight to the point. Makoto. You shared a room with him while he was here. I want to know everything about him. I have paid good money for your time, so start talking.” My voice trembles just a little, imagining what it would have been like to visit Makoto in this place.

The things I would have done to him. The ways in which I would have taken his untrained body. I am greedy. I want to have had his virginity, his agony, his first passion. Everything of his. I want to have laid claim to everything.

“So _you_ bought him?” Hearing Makoto’s name, the pretense falls right off Kisumi’s face. He looks at me sternly- a little frightened.

“I did. But I no longer own him. He is his own man. I want to know…His life, when he was here. I want to know _everything_.”

Kisumi snorts at me disdainfully.

“In love with Mako, are you?”

“So what if I am?”

“Get in line. Every single one of his regulars was in love with him. There was this sailor who used to spend every cent he’d earned at sea on Makoto, every single time his ship laid anchor. And then there was the perverted old man who visited every month just to sit and stare at Makoto for hours on end. Didn’t touch him. Not once. Of course, he did make Makoto crawl around naked on all fours the whole time. A sweet little pink ribbon around his pretty throat. And a green one around his pink cock. It was _such_ a sight.” Kisumi smirks at the way I shift around in my seat, trying not to lose my head to either anger or desire, unable to separate the two from each other anymore.

“How many men…How many did he, ummm, _service_?” I should walk away right now, and never come back. I should leave Makoto to Nanase, where he would be happy, free of my unseemly appetites. I should not be here…

“You really want to know that? Well, he was special you know. Such naivety, such innocence. Men loved to see him writhing around naked, messy and sticky. Loved to see that sweetness sullied, that innocence soiled. You understand that, don’t you? His moaning sounds almost musical doesn’t it?” His eyes pose a challenge. He is trying to rile me up, this jumped-up prostitute.

“How. Many.”

“Not to be deterred, huh? Well, let’s see. He had 5 regulars. Then there was the sailor. And sometimes, he served during drinking parties. But Madam Miho made sure he only used his hands and mouth. I think she is rather fond of him. He was her foundling, you know. She thinks she _rescued_ him.” He stops and looks to the side, letting out a bitter chuckle. His eyes glint, as if he’s holding back some distant sorrow.

“You told me about the old man. Who else?” I need to know every single way in which Makoto was taken.

“There was the business magnate who visited every other week. He had simple tastes. Mostly he just wanted Makoto to suck him off. And Makoto is such an expert cocksucker isn’t he? I should know. _I_ trained him, you know. Wanna have a go with me? I’ll make you feel better than he can.” Kisumi slides up closer, and I have to shove him away with both hands.

But I want to push him down on myself, and pretend he is Makoto.

_I want Makoto._

There is a part of me that loves Makoto. And there is a part of me always lusting after him. With one breath I want to cherish him, and with the other I want to cum all over his face. He drives me mad.

“Just answer the question I asked, and keep your filthy paws off me.”

“Tsk. How rude. Fine. But in return, I have a condition.” Kisumi mocks offense at me, cocking his pretty head to the side.

“What is it?” More money, probably.

“I want to see him. I want to see Makoto.” The determination in his voice tells me he means it.

“Fine. But I will decide when and where.”

“Didn’t you say Makoto was his own man now?”

“Keep challenging me and I’ll rip your tongue out, _Kisumi_.”

“I already told you about One and Two. Three was a politician. He visited less frequently. Liked to tie Makoto up and jerk off on him before fucking him in the ass. Four was an artist or a poet or something. He was _definitely_ in love. He would sit there reading poems to Makoto, and held him ever so sweetly all night long. Could never make Mako cum though. He’d always leave in the morning, weeping, vowing to set Makoto free one day. The complete anus.”

“And what about Five?” Kisumi is saving the worst for the last. I know it by the shadow falling across his face.

“Five. He was a piece of work. He…He liked to hurt people. People like Makoto. He didn’t visit very often, but when he did…I’d have to hold Makoto for hours after, trying to bring him back. I…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I _need_ to know, Kisumi.”

“He…He liked to use… _things_ …Whips were the least of it. He was so skilled at not leaving marks.”

“Who?”

“What will you do if I tell you? Avenge Makoto?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

Kisumi leans in and whispers the name in my left ear. I know it. I have heard it before. I can put a face to it.

I feel at ease.

“Makoto is staying here, if you want to go see him.” Before I get dressed and leave, I write out Nanase’s address for Kisumi on a bit of parchment from the desk in the hallway.

“Thank you. Lord Yamazaki? Be good to him. Be kind. After coming here, things were easy for him, you know. It was before…When he was on his own…That was the worst of it. He never talked about it either. But he had the worst nightmares. Even I couldn’t share a room with him for all the screaming. Please don’t…Don’t let him get hurt anymore.”

I nod sharply at him before turning to leave.

 

My stride is sturdier now. I have a purpose. Something to do. A task to accomplish.

Arriving at my family’s mansion in the city, I walk right up to my mother’s room, not bothering to be announced. I must get this over with right away.

She looks frail, her greying hair loose around her thin face, gazing out of the window at the unrelenting rain.

“Sousuke…” She turns around at the sound of my footfall.

“Here.” I throw the ring at her without so much as a greeting. It clatters noisily at her feet on the bare floor before coming to a rest.

“I…I did not mean to…”

“You and I, we’re both cursed, aren’t we mother?”

“I’m sorry, Sou…”

“No. You are not sorry. You were _never_ sorry. You will never _be_ sorry.”

“He isn’t good enough for you.”

“ _You_ brought him to me. _You_ said you were happy I loved him. _You_ …”

“I thought you would tire of him soon. Your father…He always said he was in love with them- all his women- and then he tossed them out. I thought…”

“I am not _my father_. I am _nothing_ like that man.”

“It’s funny, Sousuke. I hoped you would grow up to be more like me, and not your father. But you’re nothing like either of us, are you?”

“I hope not.”

She laughs a cold, brittle laugh.

“I fear we’re both cursed when it comes to love, my dear boy.”

“And you’re the one who cursed us, mother.”

“Sousuke, I am so sorry.”

“No. You are not sorry. You threw him out. You knew where he was all these years, didn’t you? His mother was dead. So what was _his_ fault? What crimes did he pay for?”

“For having her eyes. Her laugh. For loving you. I knew he’d steal you from me just like his mother stole your father.”

“You stole _him_ from _me_ , mother. You took away the one thing in my life that I…”

“Sousuke, he is nothing more than a whore. You have had your pleasure. Let him go now.”

“I don’t think you know what love is, do you? If you did…Why did you give him to me if you were going to take him away?”

“I will find you someone better, Sousuke. Your father and I, we think…”

“Oh so it’s _we_ now, is it? What, you want me to get married and straighten up now that I have played around with Makoto? Is that why you offered him to me like a sacrificial lamb? To cleanse me of my _unnatural urges_ , as father likes to call them?”

“Lambs are _innocent_ Sousuke. Makoto is not. He is tainted. He is filth. He is not worthy of you.”

No, it is I who is not worthy of him.

I have always been alone.

Rin. Makoto. Mother.

I am my own worst enemy. Only I can defeat myself. Before I devour everyone around me. Everyone I am supposed to love. 

I am the monster at the heart of the labyrinth. Waiting and waiting and waiting. Dying cold and alone, surrounded by stone and silence.

“ _I love him_. Do you understand that? I am _nothing_ without him. And now he hates me. And that is on you.”

“Sousuke, _please_ , see sense…”

“If he ever takes me back…Maybe then, you will see me again.”

“What are you saying, Sou?” Her face loses its composure once more- she looks old and alone- dead inside, just like me.

“I am saying goodbye.”

I leave her in silence, her quiet sobs echoing with the music of the falling rain.

It is _my_ life I must rewrite before I can have Makoto back.

And I _will_ have him back.

**_I will._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really unhappy with the last update, and I wish I had spent a bit more time with it. But it's done now, and I can't take it back. I hope this chapter is better.  
> I did have fun writing Kisumi though *^▽^*


	29. The Fading Light of Lost Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto and Sousuke have a confrontation.  
> This chapter is from Makoto's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy angst alert. You have been warned. Proceed with caution.

I fear that he will not come for me.

I fear that he will let me go, and not look my way again.

I fear that this is exactly what I want him to do.

I fear my desire for him.

_I fear him._

He makes me forget myself. He makes me think I can live outside myself. Apart from my past, apart from the world, apart from the people I love, from people that must have loved me long ago.

And yet I fidget and I wring my hands and I pine after his touch, his breath on my neck when I wake up, his kiss.

I want him to come back, to force me to be his again, to take me away and lock me up in his castle, tie me to the bedpost and never, never let me go again.

It is kissing him that I miss the most, the taste of him that I long for above anything else.

I have kissed and been kissed so many times in my life. Most of the time it felt like poison being poured into my mouth, rotting me from the inside.

But that was before Sousuke, before Haruka.

Haru’s kiss- it was pure as water; life-giving, chaste. His kiss was ether, it was air, it was the scent of bluebells blossoming in the wake of summer rain- ethereal. Haru’s kiss was sunlight on my skin, breath in my lungs- always, always, always with me. Outside of time, outside memory. When I tasted his lips, slipped inside his mouth, a universe fell into place within me, within him.

Haruka is mine without belonging to me. Without me belonging to him. It is not a question of owning, of being owned. We are the same. Two halves. One whole.

Sousuke’s kisses are different- they are wine- burgundy dye staining my lips and fingers, thick and intoxicating, drowning out my sense, my mind, my self. Heavy as the blood in my veins, heavy as life. Almost unbearable.

When he kisses me, I become filled with him, ecstatic, tethered to the earth in his embrace. He is life and his kiss tastes of mortality, reminds me of the desire weighing down my weakening limbs, keeping me here, keeping me next to him. Safe.

Haruka and Sousuke.

Spirit and desire.

Breath and death.

I need them both. I love them both.

The men I love. The men who love me.

 

And Sousuke does come back. He comes back to me.

In the morning, waking up by Haru’s side, still holding his hand in mine, as I come to my senses, Sousuke is there. He is in the room. Rei is standing at the door, an undefined fear driving all color away from his face.

Sousuke looms over me and Haru like a monstrous shadow, blocking the sunlight. His eyes are cold, uncomprehending. I try to talk to him, to say something, to make him understand why I am with Haru like this…

Sousuke has held me through my nightmares, he has calmed me down on so many nights. He should know. He _must_ know.

But he doesn’t. It seems as though he is looking at me for the first time. That he is seeing right through me, into my past, into the years stretching venomous and dark between us- the years without him.

In a dizzying swirl, I hear his voice, I feel his grip on my wrists, I feel his kiss branding my lips. So hasty, so forceful. I cannot taste him at all.

He drags me with him, still clad in my night shirt and loose trousers, not even giving me a chance to get dressed. I am so easily pulled along by his insistent force.

Haruka’s panicked words fade before they fall into my ears.

There is something wrong about the way Sousuke is with me, as he pushes me into a waiting carriage, and seats himself beside me.

He will not meet my eyes, he will not slip his arm around my waist as he always does.

I reach out for the sleeve of his coat and hold it. Hold on to it for dear life.

When he jerks my hand away, I am returned to reality.

“S-Sousuke? Are you angry with me?” My coaxing fingers reach for his arm again. This time he lets me hold him, though he cringes at the contact between us.

“Did you kiss him?” He will not look at me. Not at all. His voice is steady, unfamiliar, alien.

“Did I kiss who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you _whore_.”

“S-Sousuke…”

“ _Lord Yamazaki_. Don’t you dare utter my name with those lips.”

“I-I don’t understand…Why are you…What did I do, Sousuke?”

“Did you fucking kiss Nanase? You were sleeping in the same bed as him, right? What else did you do with him?”

“Why are you…All of a sudden…”

“Answer the fucking question.” The most frightening part is that he does not his raise his voice. This is not his anger talking. These words are cold and calculated.

_Whore. He said whore. He called me…_

“I-I did kiss him…Once…Just one time, Sousuke…But…” He must understand, he must know that the way I love Haru is different from the way I love him. Doesn’t he already know that?

“If you did, you did. I thought…I thought I could change you, I could take away your past. But it looks like…You can take the whore out of the whorehouse, but you cannot change his ways, can you?” His bitter laugh frightens me. I have never been this scared in my life. I have to tell him. He must understand…

“Sou-Lord…Lord Yamazaki…Please, please listen…”

“What is there to listen to? This is why you returned my ring, right? So you can fuck around with _him_? Don’t worry. I intend to pay you for your time today.”

The carriage stops haltingly and I am dragged out by an iron grip, taken into an unfamiliar house, thrown onto an unfamiliar bed.

The hands that rip my clothes apart, that pry my legs open, that leave me stranded and alone, waiting to be kissed- these hands are not known to me. A stranger’s hands, unknown fingers- icy, harsh, unfeeling.

He takes off the gold chain around my thigh, pulling at it until it breaks, leaving my skin raw and red with its memory.

 

He moves his spit-covered fingers inside me, thrusting into me when I am ready, making sure it doesn’t hurt.

But I feel nothing. Nothing at all.

His hair is dishevelled, falling across his face, and I cannot see his eyes.

I want him to look at him.

This is not my Sousuke. This is not the man I love. It cannot be him.

I try to reach out for his face, to touch his cheek, brush his hair away so he can see me.

He must not know me. Why else would he be so cruel? He must not be able to see me.

I _need_ him to look at me.

He _must_ look at me.

The pain and the pleasure ravage me, body and soul.

It feels like…

It has been so long since I was made to feel like this.

He taught my body so many different ways to be loved, I almost forgot…

I forgot how worthless it used to feel, how dirty- to be fucked without someone looking at you, without them speaking your name softly, without them kissing your mouth…

But I remember now. I remember everything.

When he is done with me, he leaves the bed and starts dressing, his back to me.

“Sousuke…Why…”

“Do _not_ use my name.”

“I’m sorry Sousuke.” Maybe if I keep calling him, he will look at me again. Maybe if he hears me say his name, he will know me again. I try to reach for him, try to get out of bed, but my body will not cooperate. I fall to the floor on both knees.

“I do not remember letting a whore like you say my name. Clean yourself up and get dressed. Then get out.”

“Why…”

“This concludes our transaction. After I pay you, I do not wish to see your face again.”

The blunt-blade words mark me with invisible cuts. My heart, my soul, my entire being- everything bleeds from the shallow wounds.

How can I still be alive when it hurts so much?

_It hurts so much_.

And I want to fall at his feet, begging him- begging him not to hurt me anymore, not to make me go through this all over again. To tell him about the pain that sears through my chest, slices me open and leaves me dying on the floor. Beg him to save me, to kiss me, to love me, to unsay the words he has spoken.

I will wear any ring he wants me to. I will wear any chains he binds me with. I will smile through the pain.

_I will do anything._

I want him to know that I am his prisoner, that I have no choice but to be his. That no matter how hard I try, I cannot belong to myself. Because I already belong to him.

But no words leave my gaping mouth as I stare at him in silence- my lower lip quivering like the last leaf of autumn, my breathing ragged, salt tears burning my face as they fall to the floor.

The coins he throws at me are colder than my congealed blood.

One, two, three, four, five…

I lose count as they clatter around me, golden and heavy, freezing my skin with their weight, leaving bruises.

_Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop._

I should scream at him, shouldn’t I?

I should call him a monster, I should remind him of the words he whispered to me in his bed, his promises to protect me, to love me forever.

“I am leaving first. Put on your clothes, take the money, and go wherever you want.”

He turns away from me, putting on his coat with a casual ease.

_So cold._

It is so cold and it _hurts_.

It hurts _so much_.

I put my arms around myself, closing my eyes, quietly begging him to turn his face towards mine, to put his arms around me, to heal me, to hold me close and take away this deathly cold from my soul, from my bones.

“S-Sousuke, please…”

“That’s Lord Yamazaki to you. Do not make me repeat myself again.” His voice is cold glass and sword-steel.

This is how stories really end. This is what happens after the book has been placed back on its shelf. After the declarations of love, after the promises, after the kisses, after the vows.

Someone always ends up naked on the floor. Broken, defeated, and done for.

Such pain, such misery, such hurt as stills my heart right now cannot be put into words.

Broken hearts can be mended. Broken words can be strung back together again.

But there are no stories, no poems for broken whores. Whores like me- less than alive, and too cowardly to die.

As he leaves me behind, walking out the door, I put my forehead against the floor, as if praying to him.

I do not know which one of us made this decision. But Sousuke is the one who acted on it.

To sever this ill-begotten tie between us, to free us both from this illusion that no one else in the world exists but us two. That we could be together forever. That he could be mine forever. That someone like me- a _whore_ like me-could be loved so completely, so absolutely by someone like him.

It is for the best.

It has to be.

I could write a poem about this, but what would I say? My words would falter and crumble into dust as they leave my pen. And they would sound so clichéd. Broken hearts are the oldest tale told by the poets. What does another one matter in the long, sullen march of time?

But my heart _is_ broken.                         

It _must_ be broken.

I can feel it, crumpled up inside my chest, its shards cutting me up, pouring blood into my lungs, quietly killing me with every heartbeat.

_My heart is broken_.

And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

 

I think he believes he is setting me free.

If this is freedom, I do not want it.

I only want him.

I wish he knew that.

I wish I could tell him that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to burn my effigy etc if it will help, because I probably deserve it.
> 
> I love Makoto so much, but I am such a masochist. But I felt like slapping myself repeatedly while I was typing this update.


	30. To the Earth, Down Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke is tortured by his words and his actions. Is it too late for him to go back to Makoto?
> 
> Trigger Warning: There is mention of some sexual violence later on in the chapter. And Sousuke's thoughts focus on his internalized homophobia a little bit, as he thinks about his family's mistreatment of him. 
> 
> The chapter title this time is taken from "The Enemy" by Mumford and Sons (off the "Wuthering Heights" OST). Give it a listen if you feel like it. It kind of fits in perfectly with Sousuke's inner monologue in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating this faster than I initially intended, because of certain reasons. Sousuke and Makoto are both seriously damaged people, and there is a lot of self-loathing going on for both of them. Sousuke's jealousy is more about him being insufficient and incapable of loving Makoto properly than anything else. But it has been established early on that when he get angry, things get dark. And he lashes out at other people. Which is why he did what he did.

The rain is unforgiving, unrelenting.

It cannot wash me clean of my sins.

I am not a good man.

I left Makoto on the floor, on his own, fighting every instinct in my body telling me to run back inside and embrace him, ignoring every thought in my head aching for him.

But how can I go back now?        

There are words that cannot be taken back.

There are sins I cannot atone for.

I am beyond saving.

So how could he have expected me to save him?

How could he have ever relied on me?

When I saw him smiling next to Nanase, something inside me broke loose, something I had been holding back since before I can remember.

I should have listened to Rei as he tried to stop me from barging in like that. I should have asked him why, I should have listened to his reasons.  

 _“Mako is with Haru of course! Where else would he be?”_ Nagisa’s simple childish words acted on me like poison.

Why must it be so natural for him to be with Nanase? Why must he smile like that in his sleep, holding _that man’s_ hand? Why were they in the same bed? _In Nanase’s bed?_

**Whore. Whore. Whore.**

My mother’s voice echoed through my head, shattering every delusion I had ever constructed about Makoto. About myself.

He does not know anything but to be owned by me.

He cannot love me. He cannot be loved by me.

Why did he find peace with Nanase? Why couldn’t it be me? How could he have kissed someone else? How could he have…

But he said he didn’t…

 

His words mean nothing to me now. Not anymore.

It was always his body I sought after, paid for, used up, tossed aside.

Such dreams I wove around him, such fantasies, such splendorous stories…

And then I woke up.

There was only darkness around me. At the heart of the twisted stone labyrinth, cursing myself, I was the monster. _His monster._

I am not a good man.

I am not even sure I am human anymore.

The men he has been with, the men who have fucked him before me, and those who will fuck him after me…What makes me different from any of them? We all paid good money for his mouth, for his cock, for his asshole. I could dress him up in silks and jewels, burn the words away, destroying the evidence- but would that hide the truth?

I was an abomination, unable to live according to my place in society. He was the sacrifice offered up at my altar, bleeding and helpless, to appease my unnatural urges.  

I have always been wrong, done wrong.

I should never have fallen in love with Rin. It was supposed to be his sister. My father wanted to join the Yamazaki name with the Matsuoka name, make us both stronger. But I failed him.

I failed my parents, failed Rin, failed myself.

A disgrace to my family’s name.

Nothing turned out as it was meant to be.

 _I_ did not turn out as I was meant to be.

My father is right. I am sick. I am corrupt. I am cursed.

The monstrous child locked away from human sight because of its abominable visage, only capable of causing hurt.

The Minotaur in his labyrinth.

The monster.

Loving Rin, loving Makoto. It was all a mistake. I am not capable of loving anyone. I loathe myself too much for it.

 

Makoto’s tear-stained face is all I can see.

The way he kept saying my name, trying to stop me. I keep hearing his voice.

The way he tried to reach for my face, silently begging me to look at him. His touch burns on my skin.

It must have been that he loved me. Maybe he still does.

So I took it upon myself to break the illusion, to set him free.

I understand now that I have always been in love with the boy. The innocence of the boy who left flowers for me. The pure, untouched, divinely beautiful boy with shining green eyes that always, always smiled for me- always wept with me.

And I have been trying to bring him back. I have been trying to save him. Save him even though he has been long lost, even to himself.

I have been trying to kill the man so the boy will be returned to me.

The Makoto before me now- he is not mine. I realize now why he wanted me to keep the piece of paper binding us together intact.

Because nothing else could have kept us together.

I was just another customer.

Enamoured by that fragile beauty, deluding myself into rose-hued fancies of love.

 

Haruka- he is different. He has always been different. Makoto opened up to him long before he let me love him.

But that was my fault too, was it not?

 

My head is heavy with doubt and wine.

I do not recall exactly when I found my way out of the rain, and into the filthy, shadowed recesses of this tavern.

In the dimly lit darkness of the underground space, my vision has become clouded with smoke, my reason obscured by the putrid fumes of cheap alcohol. And I cannot shake the image of Makoto’s face from my mind.

The image of Makoto sleeping next to another man.

Makoto smiling like he used to-sanctified, purified- holding another’s hand.

Makoto as he used to be. Makoto the boy. Makoto unmarked by the desires and pleasures of brutal, lustful men. _Men like me._

And I could only hurt him, try to possess him, force him to acquiesce to my demands. I could never hear his voice. He could never reach me- from across the abyss of separated lives- his words never really got through.

It was Haruka after all. The one that saved Makoto, returned his smile to him.

_Why could it not be me?_

Could I never love him, the way he is now, without the ghost of his childhood haunting me, making me crave what I cannot have?

And now I have torn him away from my side. For good.

He will go back to Haruka, be loved by Haruka, smile at Haruka’s side, sleep in Haruka’s bed.

Thinking of me will make him cry, but Haruka will wipe his tears away.

Until there is no memory of me left.

Until I become one of the shadows in his nightmares.

His fingers clasping Haruka’s, even my shadow will vanish one night.

_That is how it should be._

I gave in to my weakness when I saw him broken up. I let myself think my lust was love, my ownership was trust.

But that is not true. We have both been lying to ourselves, to each other. Caught up in some pipedream we decided to share, joining our bodies together over and over again, wishing it would last, wishing it would make the love we insisted on sharing _real_.

So I called him whore, I broke the trance, I broke his heart, and I broke mine too.

 

I have always known that I will die alone, crumbling away in the darkness, surrounded by inescapable walls of cold, cold stone.

I almost find myself wishing Makoto was still in that brothel, drowsing in a spoiled bed, heady with perfume and the musk of spent men- where I could see him for a few gold coins, own him for a few decadent hours- and the word _love_ would never have been mentioned by either of us. We would have lived and died without knowing what it meant to share a bed at night, share a room, share a life…

Maybe then it would not hurt so much.

_It hurts so much._

 

Every nerve in my body is intoxicated now- on wine, on misery, on thoughts of Makoto.

_Every single one of his regulars was in love with him._

Kisumi’s words echo in the cavernous gloom of the tavern.

 _Be good to him, be kind_ , he said.  

The name he whispered in my ear. That is all I am good for after all, isn’t it?

Throwing my moneybag onto the grim, greasy surface of the table, upending the last glass of red swill down my throat, I stagger, fumbling out onto the street.

The name Kisumi spilled into my ear- I know it. It belongs to one of my father’s esteemed friends. He must have seen Makoto when he was younger, must have watched the boy with wanting eyes, must have wished to sully him.

I know where the perverted old bastard lives.

Would he object to a visit from his good friend’s disgraced son in the middle of the night? I wave reason away, my purpose already lodged in my brain like a diseased root, waiting to sprout oleanders.

Despite the state I am in, I reach my destination. I stink of drink and shame.

The attendant who answers the door hesitates when he sees me, but hearing me utter my father’s name, believing my claims to seek shelter from the thunderous downpour, he lets me in.

_This is all I can do for you now, Makoto. This is all I am worthy of._

He lets me into the parlour, seats me, and leaves me with promises of hot tea.

As soon as he has gone, I stagger outside, finding my way up the stairs. I have vague memories of this place from my boyhood, being brought to visit, staying here for a few days.

I remember where the bedroom is.

 

He has back to me as I stumble inside, surprising him.

“Wh-Who let you in?” He is older than my father- greying hair and sagging body, dressed in a crimson robe, preparing for bed.

I will strangle the air out of his lungs, leave him incapable of speech. I will have his life.

_For Makoto. For Makoto._

_Or is it for me, after all?_

“You- You’re Yamazaki’s son. The youngest, right? Are you drunk? Why are you here? What…”

Before he can finish the sentence, I have my hands around his throat, pressing down as firmly as I can manage. But my body refuses to keep up. My mind is filled with fog, losing its focus.

He pushes me away with swift ease. I am on the floor, on my back, his foot planted on my chest.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“Y-you…Monster. You’re a monster. You hurt him.”

“What are you babbling about boy? Hurt who?”

“M-Makoto.” It is a sacrilege to say his name out loud, after what I said to him, after what I called him.

“Who?”

“Don’t pretend you cannot recall him. You- you fucking pervert!”

“Ahhh…I see.” He looks down at me, into my eyes, and laughs- icy and cruel. I can see myself reflected in their callous depths. I can see myself for who I am…

“I will kill you. For what you did to him. I will hurt you.”

“Like hell you will, you filthy ingrate. Done with the Matsuoka boy now? Pining after a whore? That’s low, even for _you_.”

“D-don’t call him that. Don’t…” Helpless and lost and without the will to live. I am blubbering like a child. The man standing above me- I cannot defeat him. I cannot take back the pain he has caused Makoto. The pain _I_ have caused Makoto.

“No? What else should I call a whore? I thought he was dead somewhere by now. Haven’t had the pleasure of his company for a while. Did he go crying to you after all?”

“Crying to me? Wh-What do you mean?”

His foot presses down against my chest harder as he leans down to look closer.

“It was such fun to do things to him, you know. I found him purely by chance at the brothel, but I instantly remembered him. Those green eyes, that unquestioning purity. Not even years on the street, sucking men’s cocks for bread, could take that away.”

“Stop…Stop talking about him like that…”

“Why? Are you in love? Did he finally get his wish? You know…Once, when I had him strung up in ropes, probing his insides with the hilt of my sword…Oh he hated that…He had his eyes scrunched up, looking so much like the child he was…He called out for you, you know? Not Lord Yamazaki or anything. But your name. _Sousuke, help me._ That whimpering, pleading voice got me so excited. When I was done with him, he was bleeding. I always made sure not to leave lasting injuries. But I just couldn’t help myself that time. So it was your fault, really.”

My blood boils and surges and somehow I manage to push him off myself, find myself standing up again. Surprised, he falls back onto his desk, finally realizing the danger he is in.

I reach for his throat once more. This time I will get the job done.

His eyes widen in terror as my grip tightens, squeezing life out of his worthless, putrid body.

I look at the stark pupils, the dark irises, and I see myself in them.

_I see myself in him._

The moment of hesitation is my downfall.

His left hand reaches for a penknife from his desk. He aims for my neck. My senses are dull with drink already.

I find myself on the floor again, the ivory handle of the sharp instrument sticking out of my right shoulder.

“I should kill you now. Your father will thank me for it.”

“Ma-Makoto…” Is it too late to ask for his forgiveness now? I will never see him again, will I?

The old man bends over me and takes the penknife out, wipes it clean on his robe, and places it back on the desk.

“I think I will, after all.”

The sword must have been in the room all along. He slowly drags the blade along my throat, drawing a few droplets of blood.

“This is what I fucked him with, you know. Your little green-eyed whore. I’ll make you bleed with it too. I can always cry a few tears in front of your parents, tell them it was self-defence. From their drunken, brutish, failure of a son. They’d understand, wouldn’t they?”

The blade enters the same spot as the penknife, and the pain is excruciating, overwhelming.

The darkness looming over me clouds his twisted, grinning face. All I can see is my own reflection, leering back at me from his cruel gaze.

And then everything goes white- golden and shining.

Makoto is smiling at me.

Not Makoto the boy, but Makoto the man. Makoto who has been abused by me, by others like me. Makoto who had the courage to stand tall and love me despite everything.

The realization of love- transcending life and death, lust and jealousy- pierces my heart, sharper than the sword’s blade.

But it is already too late.

Darkness claims me for its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably want to set me on fire now, don't you? Next update will take a little more time, because the angst is getting to me, and I will indulge my fluff instincts before I return to this fic next weekend.
> 
> P.S. Thanks to everyone reading this- for giving this story a shot and sticking around to see how it ends- and for having faith in me. I appreciate all of you. 
> 
> Chapter 30 was going to be the end for me, but I think the story has to go on a bit longer to conclude properly.


	31. The Road that Leads Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto loses his way in the rain, but recovers something he never knew he had lost.  
> Trigger Warning: Suicidal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update before I run off to work. Because my sleep pattern is fucked and I woke up way too early.  
> Forgive any editing mistakes as I haven't had the time to properly review it before posting it.  
> And yes, the angst continues.  
> What made you think the angst train would stop?

The rain is deafening. Falling in endless curtains, dissolving into greying filth on the city streets. Thunder calls like an angry god, drunken and enraged, ready to mete out judgment on the human scum inhabiting this rotting earth.

The cold rain has numbed my skin, dulling the ache in my body.

I do not remember how long it has been since I found my feet, leaving behind the sheets soaked with him and me, the countless coins littering the floor where I kneeled in front of him, trying to make him stay.

If only it could drown out the voices in my head.

My feet still remember this city. The back alleys where no one could find you, so you could sleep in peace for a night or two.

The dank corners with waiting men- their pockets jingling with coins that could buy bread and warmth for the night- if you wanted to be found.

But it is not their calls I hear, or their squelching grunts. Nor the words _whore_ , or _beggar_ , or _trash_ , or _filth_. I can bear the echoes of those voices. I have lived with them for so long.

Haunting me now- chasing me back into dark corners, pushing me up against cold walls with nowhere to run- are _his_ words.

The sleepy murmurs telling me of love, the sweet promises of _always together_ and _I’ll keep you safe_.

All gone now. And I am my own ghost again.

Chased by the deep cadence of his falsehoods, I find myself on the abandoned bridge overlooking the ghastly, filth-infested river bordering the city. How many lives has its ancient, gaping maw consumed? How many bones litter the bottom, hollowed out by the teeth of time, consumed by fishes?

The rain still falls heavily, and I am so very numb.

I stand by the edge, staring into the disgruntled surface of the river. How long before the water will close up my lungs, knocking the air out, turning the lies inside my head to silence?

Not long.

I do not remember how it was for my mother. I can only recall the feeling of helplessness and loss- the fear of being left all alone in the world.

_All alone._

The watery depths will drag me down, and no one will ever find me again. And who will mourn me?

I should have done this a long time ago.

Before I left like this again.

_All alone…_

Nagisa laughs so sweetly. Like a tinkling of silver bells.

Rei grumbles under his breath when he’s angry, too considerate to let anyone know what’s bothering him.

Haru’s sparse words always fill my soul with light, making me feel weightless.

 

They will be worried. They will be waiting.

They will have to mourn me.

I cannot have anyone mourn me.

 

There are so many different ways to love and be loved.

And I am loved.

I know that.

I am not alone.

I know that too.

 

The ache in my chest will ease in time. The memory of his fingers will fade like old bruises. I will be able to breathe again.

It does not matter how many times I get hurt, no one will ever be hurt because of me.

It would be so easy to slip out of this body right now, so easy to let eternal oblivion claim me.

_But I am no longer alone._

 

I still remember where this bridge leads to. On the other side of it is where the city hides its secrets. Its orphans, its outcasts, its aliens, its whores.

Before I know it, I am standing outside the familiar door, waiting to be ushered in.

A nervous-looking boy lets me in. He must be a couple of years younger than I am- slender and olive-skinned with sleek black hair.

He can tell right away from my woebegone appearance that I cannot be a customer, but is rule-bound to let me in anyway. I still know the right way to knock. I still remember the right words to gain entry within.

Before the anxious boy can ask me what I want, I find who I am looking for.

“Makoto?” His voice is uncertain, his beautiful eyes shining with a sudden joy.

“Kisumi”. We embrace like long-lost brothers.

“What are you…What’s wrong, Mako?” He still knows me so well. Lacing his fingers with mine, he drags me inside.

The heavy, incense-riddled air always used to make my head ache when I lived here. But now it feels like the welcoming embrace of a long-forgotten home.

Ignoring the questioning glances of the other boys and a smattering of daytime customer, Kisumi leads me up the stairs to his room. It is the same as ever. Pink and red cushions, sheer gold curtains everywhere. Silk sheets. A burning hearth to drive the unnatural chill of the summer rain away.

As he fusses over me with a towel, drying me, undressing me, wrapping me up in a warm robe, making me sit before the fire, preparing tea just the way I like it, stroking my wet hair away from my forehead- I remember how he was the first one to drive away that carnivorous feeling of _all alone_ from my bones. The feeling that had been quietly eating away at my heart since I was born.

It was Kisumi who tried his best to chase away my nightmares. He failed, but he still looked after me in every possible way. It was Kisumi’s body that first taught mine to seek pleasure instead of pain in strangers’ embraces. Kisumi who tended to me after the cruelty of certain men. Kisumi who sang softly to me in the mornings- waiting and watching for me to smile. Kisumi who used spend his hard-earned tips to buy me paper and ink and pen so I could write out the horrors infesting my head. Kisumi who brought me little cakes when I was down. Kisumi who loved me first.

“Makoto? Is everything in its right place?” He is leaning close to my face, concerned fingers caressing my cheek.

“Hmmm. Not really. I wanted to see you. I missed you, Kisumi.” I do not have to force myself to smile when I am around him.

“If you say so.” He laughs prettily, and kisses my lips lightly, like he always used to.

The memory of him is sweet and warm still, and my mouth remembers it, my skin remembers it. I left it all behind after walking through Sousuke’s door. I relegated Kisumi’s love to the shadows of the past, and forgot it.

I am so ashamed that I ever forgot it.

“I’m sorry Kisumi.”

“For what? Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry. Especially not to me.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t even write to you. I promised I would write to you.”

“It’s okay. I was sad for a bit when I didn’t get a letter, you know. But then I thought, if you’d forgotten all about me, then you must be happy. You must have found the love you waited for. So don’t be sorry.”

“But…I had the love I was waiting for when I was with you, Kisumi. I just didn’t…I didn’t understand it then. That love has so many faces, so many ways to declare itself. I lost myself…Searching for something unattainable. I lost everything that I should have held close to my heart.”

He keeps smiling at me, as if taking in every details of my face, remembering me all over again.

“You know, when you first showed up here, I thought you were an angel. I thought it I took care of you, if I made you indebted to me- I thought if I was kind to you, you would sprout these big white-feathered wings and take me away from here. I used to watch you while you slept, hoping for a glimpse of them.” Kisumi holds both my hands in his, sadly smiling.

“I wish I did have wings Kisumi. I wish I had them now. We could leave. Both of us.”

“But you did leave Makoto. You _have_ left. You’re free, aren’t you? Why did you come back here?”

“I wanted to see you. Didn’t I say?”

“Don’t lie to me Mako.”

“I…Something happened. And I…But it’s fine now. I don’t want to think back on it. I am fine now.” As I say the words, I know them to be true.

It is true something inside me has broken- broken in a way that it can never be put back together again. But it is still fine. I am fine. My heart is still mine, as damaged as it may be.

Kisumi looks at me intently, as if contemplating something.

“What is it Kisumi?”

“Hmmm. Nothing. Nothing to worry about Mako. Are you well? You look all skin and bones. Have you been ill?”

Hearing the concern in his voice, I suddenly realize that my skin is on fire, and my head is pounding.

“Makoto? Is everything okay?”

The fever has me in its unrelenting hold now. The hurt from before, the bone-chilling rain, the long walk- Haru has told me so many times not to exert myself too much. He would be so angry if he could see me right now.

_Haru. I need to get home to Haru._

Nagisa and Rei would be wondering why it’s taking so long.

The room spins around me, a swirl of heat and bright colors.

I hear Kisumi calling out for me. His voice is so near, and I can feel his hands holding me.

I can only offer him a weak smile, reassuring him that there is nothing wrong. That I am fine.

_I am fine._

And then the white haze of the fever takes me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have an outline leading to the end of the fic. I'm looking at 9 more chapters, fairly shortish, before the end.
> 
> Also the image of Makoto as an angel envisioned by Kisumi was inspired by Matt's art. (If he doesn't mind, I will put up a link to it later on). 
> 
> Plus, special thanks to Myra for looking over the outline and always giving honest feedback despite wanting to murder me.


	32. Because Your Heart is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru contemplates the unspoken bond he shares with Makoto, and how deep their love for each other runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit MakoHaru heavy. I feel like their relationship is so important, and it cannot be ignored or downplayed in favor of other things. But that does not mean this is no longer a SouMako story. Because it is.   
> I hope you're all enjoying your holidays.   
> Because I'm here to wreck them with angst.

The rain will not stop. Makoto is not back yet.

Despite Rei’s reassurances and Momotaru’s indulgent smiles that his master would never dream of doing anything to hurt ‘our Makoto’, I feel uneasy.

There was something strange about the look in Yamazaki’s eyes when he dragged Makoto out. Something I have never seen there before. Not even in the dungeon, with blood shrouding his body and hate clouding his vision. A hidden, blackened passion I could not read…

It is the passivity of human faces that terrifies me really. The ability to mask emotions behind veneers as calm as waveless oceans, while world-swallowing storms ripple just beneath the surface, threatening to break through.

I saw such a storm in Yamazaki’s eyes as he took hold of Makoto. I am afraid now. Afraid, though I cannot explain what it is that scares me. He would never hurt Makoto, would he? After all, he loves those green eyes as well as I do. Doesn’t he?

Nagisa is sitting by the window, staring into the blinding rain, clearly agitated. Nervous and distraught, Nagisa is unable to hide his fears. His pale face reflects the worry gnawing at my heart.

Something is not right.

The afternoon passes into evening. Still the dark clouds refuse to thin out.

“Someone needs to go bring him back, Rei. Please go get him back.” Nagisa voices the words chasing each other in my head, refusing to be uttered.

“Nagisa, he’s with Lord Sousuke. It will be fine. He’ll be back by tomorrow. Then you can all go back home together. I’m sure everything will be fine.” Rei looks nervous and uncertain of himself, but he still sits down beside Nagisa, taking his hand and stroking his hair quietly. Nagisa leans into Rei, seeking the older boy’s comfort.

Looking at them, I feel something inside my heart clamouring to escape. The fluttering of a caged bird I have felt inside me as persistently as my beating heart since I met Makoto. Since when do I think of hearts and caged birds, my imagination reeling with bad metaphors? I fight back the exhilarated nausea of unfamiliar emotions welling up inside me at the thought of Makoto.

It would not be entirely correct to say that meeting Makoto has changed me. I am still the same man I always was, seeking simple pleasures, and avoiding the onslaught of societal obligations.

My quietness has always been mistaken for unfeeling composure. The absence of speech is seen as the lack of desire. Heartless, cold, detached. This is how the world sees me.

This old city with its hushed memories and its ancient river is my home, and until now, I have felt no need to share it with anyone else.

_Until Makoto._

There is something wrong. Something is amiss. The city’s bones carry news of a distant aching thunder from across the river all the way back to me. The rain sings of an ancient hurt- so many broken hearts and blistered lives. And among them- the past, the present, and those to come- is one I know. I can hear him. From the start of his story to the day it ends, Makoto keeps calling out.

_To me._

I can hear him in the rain- his voice is like the water, making its way from sky to earth and back again. Perpetual like the tides coming in before retreating again, bringing ships home from distant shores.

A light in the dark.

A voice in the silence.

Love in the absence of hope.

That is Makoto for me. That is the meaning he holds in my life.

_My Makoto._

Among all the patchwork stories the rain has told me, his is the one I know best. And I can hear it again now- another chapter being added to its intricate maze of agonized love and persistent hope. The music of it sounds like a reprieve, an echoing crescendo of triumph that pierces through the sighing storm before drawing to a close.

The setting sun makes its presence known momentarily, breaking through the darkling clouds. The late evening is golden and grey. A strange palette of discordant colors.

_Something is wrong._

_I must find him._

_I must bring him home._

I grab my coat and prepare to leave. Momotaro insists on accompanying me, suddenly infectious with Nagisa’a worry for Makoto. He knows where his master usually stays in the city, so I eagerly accept his assistance.

We will fetch Makoto back.

As Rei tries to hold Nagisa back from trying to go with us, there is a knock on the door.

We all stop in our tracks as Ai rushes downstairs to answer the door.

Nagisa frees himself from Rei’s firm grasp and almost falls down as he runs down.

I hear his cry of distress before I see the reason for it.

Makoto is in the hallway, collapsed in the arms of a man I have never seen before. Ai is almost in tears as he tries to help the stranger hold Makoto up.

“What happened? Who are you? Where is Yamazaki?” I need to get Makoto back to bed, to safety. And I need to know who is responsible for him being in this state.

Momotarou pushes me aside as he takes Makoto in his arms. He is shorter than Makoto, but his strong stature makes up for it.

“I’ll take him back to bed, shall I?” He looks at me inquisitively.

“Please help him…” The stranger’s hair and eyes are of an unbelievable hue. With a gloved hand, he holds on to Makoto.

There are too many questions to be asked. But Makoto comes first.

“What is wrong with him? What happened? Answer me.” It is the bright-haired boy in the hooded cloak who can help me sort this mystery out.

“He…He came to…To me. I’m an old friend of his. I…He was…He fainted. The rain and…I think he has a fever. So I brought him here. I didn’t know what else to…” The man’s voice breaks as he tries to tell his story.

I feel Makoto’s damp forehead. His skin is on fire, and his breath is coming out in gasps.

“Ai, Rei. Take him upstairs. Get him out of these wet clothes and wipe him dry. Get a fire going in my room. I will be right there.” This is the not the time for sentiment. The panic rising inside me will engulf my senses if I let it. But I cannot. Makoto needs me. I must make him safe first.

That is the only thing of importance right now.

“Did Makoto tell you where to bring him? How did you get him here?” There are answers that I must have right now.

“No…I had…I had this address from Lord Yamazaki. I brought Makoto here in a stagecoach. Is he going to be fine? Can I stay here until he…?” The stranger’s eyes search upwards, following Makoto. I dislike the concern he shows for Makoto. The worry etching his face. It is too familiar. Too intimate.

“So Yamazaki sent you here? Where is he?” Yamazaki should be here himself. There are gaps in this story nagging at my mind.

“No he didn’t. It’s…A long story. I thought I was…I thought this address was Lord Yamazaki’s. Isn’t he here?” Something is wrong with this picture. Very wrong.

Nagisa clutches at my sleeve, drawing my attention back to the current situation. This will have to wait.

“So…Can I stay? Please…” The stranger’s voice catches me as I head back upstairs to Makoto. Despite my uneasiness at his distracting presence, I cannot send him away until I know more.

“Yes. I suppose. You can wait in the parlour. Ai, show him in and bring him some tea. Nagisa, would you be kind enough to entertain our guest?” It is best to have the little boy distracted right now, or he will start crying.

Makoto is lying in bed in his favorite robe. Light green. Almost sheer. A gift from Yamazaki. It feels out of place right now. Before I can stop myself, I remove it from his body and dress him in one of my spare gowns, even though it does not cover his long legs properly. Rei frowns at me but refrains from asking any questions. I am grateful for his quiet tolerance of my selfish gesture.

Makoto’s cheeks are no longer flushed. His chest rises and falls softly. Pressing a cold compress to Makoto’s forehead, I feel his breathing grow easier, his skin less warm.

The fever is going down as fast as it supposedly came over him.

He mumbles in his sleep, his soft voice lingering in the room like the last laments of the departing storm.

“Ha-Haru…”

_My name._

_His lips utter my name._

My heart leaps inside my chest. The tides comes in, with its returning ships and travelers.

Bringing them back home.

Home.

_Makoto is home._

_With me._

His eyes open slowly, and a smile lights up his wan face as he looks at me.

“Am I home Haru? Did I worry you?”

“Yes. You are home, Makoto. With me. Safe and sound.” I hold on to his hand, his fingers all wrapped up in mine.

“I am glad, Haru. For you. Have I told you that?” He brings my hand to his cheek and holds it there. His skin is still damp, imbued with the soft heat of his fading fever.

“You don’t need to tell me anything, Mako. I already know everything. I love you.” Few words and simple. That is all I need with him. He reads me through my eyes. He is the mirror in which I see myself reflected perfectly.

_He is my soul, my love, my all._

“I love you Haru. Will you kiss me?”

I lower my lips to his, and his eyes close contentedly. His eyelashes are wet with tears and the remnants of rain.

The kiss we share is soft and long. There is no urgency, no fear of impending loss behind it.  

I have known his taste and his closeness forever.

He is more than memory, more than the misgivings of passion, more than any joy my heart can encompass without bursting at the seams.

_He is not mine._

_He is a part of me._

There is no question of us ever being apart. Time has no meaning for us, and distance is no obstacle. We have always been like this, we have always shared the same soul, we have always been together.

He can be with Yamazaki, and he can find comfort with the stranger waiting for him downstairs.

_But I am his home, and he is mine._

I know that now.

I have always known it.

I have known him since before I met him.

And he will always be mine before he is anyone else’s.

And I can always put his heart back together after the likes of Yamazaki have torn it to shreds.

Because his heart is mine and mine is his.

_Because we have the same heart._

_Because we have the same heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The relationships in this story have shifted a lot since the start, but fear not. This is still about Sousuke and Makoto. Human feelings are complicated though, and love comes in many shapes and sizes. So it isn't always simple, and it isn't always about who you end up with. Love isn't always about sex, and sex isn't always about love. So Makoto has all these people in his life, who highlight the different forms love can take.   
> Haru has romantic feelings for Makoto, but they are not translated sexually because of Haru's ace orientation. Sousuke's love for Makoto is almost purely physical, but it is starting to transform into something more. Kisumi and Makoto are friends, and they sought comfort in each other's bodies, but they do not have romantic feelings for each other. For Nagisa and Rei, Makoto feels a parental affection, and he thinks he can finally have a family with these two boys.   
> A little breakdown of where things stand as of now is also important I suppose.  
> Makoto is regaining his sense of self little by little, and it's mostly thanks to the comfort and security Haru brings to his life. Rei and Nagisa are also very important to him, and their little gestures of affection make up for a lifetime of loneliness. He still loves Sousuke, but he has come to understand that Sousuke cannot provide him with the kind of love he needs to survive right now.   
> Sousuke is very self-destructive, and has always been this way. He is quick to lose hope and play the villain, and has a simultaneous tendency to victimize himself, which is always a bad combination. The kind of love he feels for Makoto is very new to him, and he is having trouble understanding it and dealing with it.  
> When he passes out in darkness, he has lost all hope. But at the same time, seeing Makoto's face in a halo of light affirms his unquestioning love for Makoto. Sousuke has made too many mistakes though, and at this point, a full recovery is probably impossible.   
> But that does not mean their story has ended, so don't worry. 
> 
> This ended up being way longer than I thought it would be, so I'm holding back on sharing some art and music inspiration for the final run of this story until next time.


	33. Falling Snow and the Sound of Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto thinks about the bonds of a dark, wordless love that keep him connected to Sousuke despite everything that has happened between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter starts with a time skip. Summer is over, and 4 months have passed since the events of the last few chapters.  
> Do not worry though. I'm not doing a narrative cheat. The gap in time will be covered in the next two chapters through flashbacks. 
> 
> The bad news? More angst.  
> The good news? A bit of smut. 
> 
> And Happy 2015, if you're into keeping up with arbitrary stuff like time etc.

Memory is a trickster godling. Cruel and cold.

All it takes is a whiff of black tea- the same kind Takano used to bring me when I was sick, steam rising off its amber surface, fogging up the inside of the café as snowflakes drift outside- and I am back in Sousuke’s arms. His warm scent, like a forest reverie in an opium daze, still drives me mad with unbidden desire.

It has been 4 months and 3 days since I saw him last.

My mind keeps count of every second we have spent without each other.

Every month, Rei’s school fees are paid without delay.

Every month, there is a package at the door with new clothes, books, sweets, and sometimes even toys for Nagisa and Rei.

He does not come to see them. He does not send any letters. This is all they have of him.

And I have nothing.

Nothing but the distorted recollection of the last time he fucked me.

When I try to think about before- even when he was rough and unyielding with me, even back when he would not kiss me- I come up short.  

It all ends there, with me on the floor, and that despicable word ringing in my ears, in his voice.

His voice that made promises of love, said he would make me his bride, said he would never let me leave.

I wake up in a cold sweat every other morning, clutching Haru’s hand, looking for Sousuke…

Even though it is quite obvious there is nothing left between the two of us, that he is well rid of me, and I am better off without him. But the constant ache in my heart- the blunted pain as if his words struck a blunt knife into my chest and left it there- reminds me of what I no longer have, what can never be mine again.

The worst thing is, I would still run back to him and throw myself at his feet for so much as a glance. I would let him pay me, I would let him use my body, I would be his dog for all I care.

My want for him exceeds my rationality. It always has.

I want to smell his sweat, his cum, as it mingles with mine. I want him again, if only for a night.

 

When I saw him last, he was barely alive. Pale, shivering, burning with fever. Haru said his blood could be poisoned. Haru said he might not live.

He had not been conscious for days. It was a miracle he had been found before he bled out.

Haru said it was his friend who found him. In the street, in front of his parents’ house, dumped like a used rag, bleeding his life away.

Haru said one of the best doctors at his trainee hospital had been ushered quietly to care for Sousuke’s injury. Haru said he’d been cut through his shoulder, that they’d needed to burn his wound close so he wouldn’t get infected. So he wouldn’t die…

 

_What if it was his heart?_

_What if he hadn’t lived?_

_What if I could never see him again in this life?_

 

And all I knew was that I needed to see him, to be with him again, to put my hand on his heart and feel the blood coursing beneath his skin. To make sure his breath was still hot in his lungs. To take in his scent one more time.

 

_Just one more time._

_Just one last time._

 

I must have acted pitifully, losing sleep and refusing to eat, barely recovering from my own illness. I must have seemed desperate, because Haru took me to see him one night.

Because Haru always knows what I need.

Sousuke was still at the hospital, still unconscious. Pale as ivory- his halo of dark hair making him glow like a crashing meteor in the darkened room. And he was not alone.

His mother, who looked at me with such hateful eyes, that in an instant I knew it was my fault Sousuke was like this. I do not know how, but I knew in that moment that I was the reason he was this close to death.

And Matsuoka. With his red hair and his downcast eyes, holding Sousuke’s hand, silently sorrowing by his side.

Haru held my hand and led me in. I would have cowered on the floor and offered up my life to the Duchess as penance for Sousuke’s if it was not for Haru.

Matsuoka looked up at me once, his glance a mixture of disgust and derision. In another life, I would have turned away at that glance. I would have given Sousuke up and walked the narrow path leading down to the sea and never, ever returned.

But it is not like that anymore.

So I walked up to his side, and I brushed his hair back and I leaned down and I kissed his burning forehead and I held his hand for as long I could.

And all the while I prayed he would stay asleep while I was there.

Because I could not have him look at me with eyes that resembled a frozen ocean, and I could not bear to hear the sound of his voice as it called me _whore_ and I could not live another instant if he did not touch me the way he did for those few months we both loved each other with everything we had.

Like a falling star he had burned through the darkness of my night, and lit me up so hot and bright that no sun could ever rival his illuminated grace. And when he left, it was as if I could see the stars again, blossoming into being in the cosmic abyss surrounding me.

A sky I could only recall as a shadow of a past I no longer had any right to. A star-clustered sky, a glittering canopy under which he held me without knowing me, made me realize that all I wanted was to make him happy. Made me realize how my heart filled up with light at being needed.

He made me understand who I was. A simple boy who wanted to love and be loved a little in return.

And all I could pay him back with were dying petals on decapitated stalks.

And my own used up being, and my burnt out heart.

My heart is now a steady flame, burning low and warm. Bright enough for the ones who seek its shelter, safe enough for those who would warm their hands by its fire.

If it was not for Sousuke, I would be nothing but darkness.

He saved me. Years and years ago, he gave me myself by letting me comfort him.

And again, when he held me and loved me, even if it was for the short lifespan of a few flowers, even if the love he had for me died with the coming of summer- he saved me.

I met Haru because of him. And the boys.

And I understood that love could hurt and cut colder than a knife made of ice, but it was still love. And the hurt of its loss could pull you out of eons of feeling nothing at all.

 

I held onto his hand as he slept in fever of burning blood. His fingers returned the firmness of my hand, and he whispered my name like a hushed prayer sighed hopelessly at the silent altar of a long-forgotten god.

His eyelids flickered like the ghosts of summer fireflies, as if straining to wake up and take in every detail of my face.

Then Haru increased his pressure on my shoulder and I knew it was time to go.

But in that moment, I knew something for a certainty.

I knew that I was loved.

 

 

I did not see him again after that.

He did not write, he did not come for me.

And I knew he would not.

He has already cast us both in roles he decided all by himself.

The whore and the demon. Already doomed. Already lost to each other. He has confined himself in darkness and he will die there, shadowed by thwarted desires and the kind of festering love that eats you all up from the inside, leaving your heart empty like the hollow of a dead oak.

 

 

The snow outside is unrelenting. Like the deluge of rain last summer, the winter is just as incessant, baptizing the earth in swirls of white.

The little bell at the door jingles as booted feet stomp inside the already crowded café. Nagisa is busy relating a formless tale of a grocer’s boy, a red woolen hat, and a box of abandoned kittens found by the docks. Rei is hiding behind one of his books as usual, taking careful sips of hot chocolate, smiling indulgently at Nagisa when the younger boy is not paying attention. Only Haru is listening carefully, taking in every word with his serious face, nodding in all the right places.

The shuffling footsteps draw closer, and two men wrapped up in black coats and sombre grey scarves sit down at the table next to ours. They speak in quiet voices and gruff tones.

Something sounds oddly familiar about them. Something in the back of my mind uncoils and reaches forward, shaking cobwebs off carefully stored memories of months that stretch back into the past like centuries.

I have lived so many lives in such a short time, I cannot seem to keep track of them all.

 

“Just go and talk to him. What harm will it do?” The louder, sharper voice rises above the placid chatter resounding inside the café.

“I said no, Rin. There is no point. I…It is too late. Stop pushing it, please.” I would know that voice anywhere. I would know it in the depths of hell, rising above the anguished screams of a thousand damned souls.

“You’re a coward, Sou. You always were.”

“Right. I am. An asshole and a coward. Now drop it. Please. You promised me a quiet evening. So stick to your word or I’ll leave.”

“Tch. Fine. But you know I’m right.”

“I know, Rin.”

 

I am not the only one who has recognized the disgruntled voices. Rei is peering at me carefully from above his book. Haru is staring at his coffee as if he intends to murder it, holding my hand under the table a bit too tight. Nagisa is gaping at Sousuke with a pastry suspended halfway between the plate and his mouth.

“We should leave.” Rei shuffles out of his chair, clearly agitated and red in the face.

“I agree.” Haru follows suit, calling the waiter over, and quickly paying the bill.

All my words catch in my throat. I want to listen to him more, to vanish into thin air so he can breathe me in through his lungs. His voice, the closeness of his scent.

It is only when Nagisa places a gentle hand on my forearm that I realize I have gone completely still.

“Mako, can we say hello at least?” I think Nagisa misses Sousuke almost as much as I do.

“Nagisa no…” Rei hisses and pulls him out of his chair.

“But…”

“Rei. Let him.” Haru’s voice is quiet but final.

Nagisa is in front of Sousuke in one bound, smiling apprehensively.

And I am still unable to move a single muscle, glued to my chair.

“Nagisa…What are you…Oh…” He notices Haru and Rei glaring quietly at him.

His looks for me beside Haru, and then he finds me.

It is only when our eyes meet that I regain my senses.

My well-worn whorehouse smile slides onto my face with such ease that it scares me.

Rising from my seat, I nod courteously at him before leading Nagisa out of the café, holding my breath until the cold wind rips at my face with unforgiving claws.

Haru places a hand in the small of my back to guide me forward.

I can hear the bell jingling again as hurried footsteps rush after us.

 

_Come for me._

_Run after me._

_Say you love me, say you want me, say you’ll take me back to your bed…_

 

“Hey, you! Tachibana! Wait up!” Matsuoka lunges forward and grabs me by the back of my coat.

“What the hell do you want with him?” Haru steps forward, staring daggers at the red-haired man.

“None of your damn business, you prissy monk.” Matsuoka always had a temper. He used to make Sousuke laugh. I hated him for that. I think I still hate him…

“What is it?” If it is a speech about ruining Sousuke’s life, I do not need to hear it.

“This is where he’s staying. Please see him. Forgive him, if you can.” With lowered eyelashes, Matsuoka extends a clenched fist towards me, looking as if the gesture is causing him unbearable pain.

I accept the crumpled up piece of paper quietly, pocketing it without agreeing to his demand.

He turns his back to me, and walks away, shoulders slumped- a man in defeat.

 

 

“I know you want to see him.” Haru is busy copying excerpts from a hoary old anatomy textbook at his desk. The boys have been asleep for an hour. And I cannot seem to take in a single word of the novel spread open in my lap.

“Haru…”

He looks at me with his head slightly bent to the side.

“Are you sure it’s okay, Haru?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh…”

“Go, Mako.”

“Thank you, Haru.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Draping myself up in my warm coat, still clad in loose trousers and a sleeping shirt, I place a grateful kiss on top of Haru’s head and rush downstairs.

Half an hour later, I am standing outside a small stone house with darkened windows, Matsuoka’s note clutched in my hand.

There are no attendants anywhere. The door is open. It must have been Matsuoka’s doing.

Up the stairs and into the room with its door slightly ajar.

He is not asleep yet.

Holding something thin and glittering in his hand, he is sitting in bed, gazing out of the window at the snow-blanked sky.

He knows I am there before he turns around to look at me.

The broken chain of beaten gold falls from his hand, clattering on the floor.

There are no words between us. Not anymore.

_Words make promises that cannot be kept._

_Words cut and bruise and hurt._

_Words are unnecessary._

 

Shrugging off my coat and then my clothes, I stand in front of his gaze with nothing on.

He does not beckon me forward. He does not look away.

Climbing onto the bed, placing myself between his legs on my stomach, pushing up his robe, reminding myself of his taste, his scent, I take him in my mouth.

With low grunts and seething moans, he pushes my head down on himself, thrusting into my throat.

His cock is throbbing in my mouth, slick and ready.

I slink forward and raise myself above him, pushing down with all my might, taking him in all at once.

The hurt of it, the heat of it- I am drunk on the blackened honey of this aching pleasure.

At first his hands hover just above my skin, reaching for my hips and stopping just short of holding me.

 

_Hold me, please, hold me._

And he finally does, gentle and uncertain.

So different from all the times we have been together before.

One hand against the headboard, one against his chest so I can make sure of his beating heart, I ride him relentlessly. I hide my face in the crook of his neck, above his uninjured shoulder. I take in his familiarity little by little, relearning his scent, his closeness.

He smells of cedar covered in snow, of half-dead hyacinths and ripe red wine.

The lightless room is filled with the erratic heaving of our gasping breaths, the wet sounds of his cock inside me, the heavy beating of our hearts, unmatched and ryhmeless.

I feel as if the ground is steady beneath my feet at long last. I feel like I can do with Sousuke as I please. I can walk away from him right now, mid-fuck, and he would be able to do nothing about it.

But when it is done, I cannot bring myself to leave him.

Morning light finds us melded together, hiding our eyes from each other, entwined in mutual silence.

I dress quietly and leave him behind.

It has to be me this time.

I should feel in control now, like an addict finally done with poisoning his body into slow decay.

But that is not true.

Daylight rips us apart but the night will see us together again.

Language and sight dissipate into darkness and free us from our restraints, so we can make believe that we are still lovers.

He is a habit I cannot break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Put away your pitchforks and your lanterns. I will explain everything in upcoming chapters, one of which is going to be a Rin POV. 
> 
> As promised before, I'll share some art and music inspiration. 
> 
> This wonderful SouMako piece by Matthew inspired the image of Makoto as an angel envisioned by Kisumi:  
> https://www.facebook.com/petitefleurdelune/photos/pb.634456833307192.-2207520000.1418628561./690386614380880/?type=1&theater
> 
> In musical terms for the last few chapters, I've been listening to "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds (esp for the chapter where Sousuke tries to avenge Makoto's honor), "Far From Any Road" by The Handsome Family, "In the Same Room" by Julia Holter and "Back, Baby" by Jessica Pratt.  
> I might do proper playlists in the future, but this is what I have for now.
> 
> Oh and I've been thinking a lot about the Persephone myth with regards to the ending of this fic. Of course Sousuke is Hades, and Haru would fill in for Demeter in a way.


	34. Some Stories Stay Untold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rin remembers the past he shared with Sousuke, and the reason they parted. 
> 
> Rin's POV, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried my best to give Rin a style of his own, and I hope it works. He is more blunt and honest about his emotions, at least to himself.  
> Also, more angst. I mean, at this point, what do you guys even expect from me? It's just a buffet of angst.  
> Also, this chapter ended up being longer than I thought, so sorry about that.  
> This is going to be Rin's only POV chapter probably, so I didn't hold back.

The blood mingled with rainwater, but in the dark of the night, you couldn’t tell anyway.

But those broad shoulders, the tall frame, the same black coat as always. It had to be him. Of course it had to be him.

Ending up in the worst messes possible, always leaving me to clean up behind him.

When I tried to have him carried inside the house, his sneering father stood in the door, barring my way.

“Let him bleed out like the dog that he is.”

I didn’t know anyone was capable of such cold words, such an absence of emotion for their own blood.

And then I remembered what I had told him when he laid his heart bare before me so long ago. I don’t really have the right to defend him anymore, do I?

His mother’s tears moved his father, as always. Who knows why? Everyone knows about the mistresses he keeps all over the place, the illegitimate children. Must be guilt.

And I couldn’t leave his side. I could not leave him like that.

It was his elder brother who faced off his father with grim-faced determination and called over one of his friends from the university. A medical student in training. One of the best.

He couldn’t be treated at home, the boy said. It could already be too late.

_Too late._ So I went with him.

_This time,_ I told myself, _I’ll do this right._

_This time, I won’t lose him,_ I said.

When they held him down to burn his flesh, to stop the gaping wound, to curb the poison threatening to spread throughout his body, all he could do was whimper weakly.

Calling for his lover.

That name. He’s mentioned it to me before. He’s told me he loves this boy. This prostitute he’s picked up from the streets.

And I’d smiled at him. And I helped him pick gifts for this…this _boy_ …

This boy he thinks he loves.

Was it to replace me?

Was it so easy to get over me? To find comfort in the arms of another and call it _love_? Someone he had to _pay_ to be with him?

Wasn’t that love supposed to be mine alone? Didn’t he swear he’d die without me? Didn’t he tell me he’d wait? Wait as long as it took? Wait even though I pushed him away and struck him when he tried to kiss me?

The years we shared together, the tentative emotions building up as we matured, the silent touching at night when we were growing up, the mutual agreement not to talk about the things we did to each other in the light of day- was it all to be thrown away for a pair of gaudy green eyes?

I thought it would always be that way. He would always follow me like a shadow wherever I led. He would always wait no matter how long I stayed away from him, no matter how cruel I was.

Even though I had started it, he was the one who lost himself in it.

We had known each other since we were both children. The serious boy with those changeable eyes. But so steadfast. He was supposed to be mine, always, always.

 

 

“Rin, this is Sousuke. Won’t you come and say hello? He is going to the same school as you. You two should be friends and look after each other.” I heard his name for the first time in my mother’s soft voice.

And since that day, Gou and I were bound to him. And he followed us around like a faithful dog. Helping us climb fences, picking the ripest apples from the highest branches that we couldn’t reach- always there, always dependable.

He taught me how to swim.

I remember chasing Gou away that day, telling her she had no business being around boys anymore. I just wanted Sousuke all to myself. I hated sharing him with my sister. My sister who I would have given up my life for without a single thought. But not Sousuke.

He was supposed to be mine alone.

I think that was the first time. In the water. The way we fooled around, pushing, grabbing. It turned into something more. Something neither of us was entirely sure of. The roughness giving way to a gentleness we didn’t even know we possessed.  

I was the one who kissed him first.

I snuck into his bed at night, in the room we shared at our school dormitory. I feigned a nightmare. I said I couldn’t sleep alone.

“It will be fine Rin. I’ll protect you. Don’t worry.” It was the way he said it. It was the way he held my hand, smiling at me, reassuring me.

How could I not have kissed him then? He was everything I ever wanted. Even when I was 15 I knew that.

When he didn’t shy away from me, I let that overwhelming emotion carry us both away.  

And it was like that most nights, if not every night, while we were in school.

But then summer would come, we’d go back to our homes and meet at other people’s houses, surrounded by other people’s lives.

And there were the girls, too. Prettily dressed in white gowns, holding up paper fans, smiling at us both from behind the colorful patterns.

That is how it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? I liked dancing with them, I liked making them laugh, bringing them ices in fragile glass bowls, watching them blush.

Sousuke was always by my side. But he never danced. And he never smiled. And when he talked to any girl, it would only be Gou.

So before long, the rumours started. That he was in love with my sister, that they were to marry.

And our parents thought that was perfect.

And he never said anything to deny it. But he never smiled either.

Only when we went back to school after that last summer, his touching became more and more aggressive, and his kisses reeked of desperation.

I liked the hold I had on him. I liked keeping our secret all to myself. It made me laugh when others speculated about who he loved. Because I knew it was me. Only me.

Maybe I wanted to test him. Maybe I didn’t understand what it meant to love back then. Maybe the oppressive weight of his unrelenting love frightened the boy I was.

 

After my father’s untimely death, it was up to me to take care of my family. And the girl was pretty. She smiled at me and blushed all pink and sweet, her silvery hair catching the sun so brightly as she laughed at my words.

I thought, one day he’ll marry someone too. This boyhood infatuation would end. But we would still love each other. I would still be his first. And he would be mine. And no one would ever take that away from us.

So what was the harm in letting go?

So I made a choice.

And he didn’t agree with me. He didn’t see it that way.

I told him he was going to have Gou instead of me anyway, so what difference would it make…

He’d just looked at me. And I couldn’t meet his eyes then. But I didn’t know why, either. At least not back then.

When I came to tell him about my engagement, to share the thrill of the new life I was about to begin- that was when his mother told me everything. The stable boy in his bed, the firm refusal to marry my sister.

 

And that was also when I first noticed the boy.

The green eyes following Sousuke wherever he went. The cheaply picked flowers. The sickening smile on his adoring face.

And I’d hated him immediately.

Sousuke refused to accept that he had to share me. And I couldn’t make him see that I had to fulfill my duty to my family. I couldn’t make him understand that I could love them both together- my wife and my best friend.

_Run away with me Rin,_ he said. _We’ll never come back here. Never. It will be you and me, Rin. The way it was always meant to be._

And he cried, and he begged, and he tried to kiss me.

I said things to him then, out of anger, out of hurt. Maybe I meant some of them, maybe not.

But that was the day I lost him.

And I didn’t want to lose him all over again.

Not to some street trash who sold his body.

He deserved so much better.

He was supposed to be mine.

 

 

When the boy walked into the quiet hospital room, bold as brass, so pale it was if death had come inside. Come for Sou. Come to take him away from me.

When he sat across from me, holding Sousuke’s hand.

When he caressed him so casually, before all the watching pairs of eyes, without any fear, placing a kiss on Sousuke’s forehead.

I couldn’t bear it.

How dare he taint Sousuke? How dare some rat from a brothel have the guts to lay claim to what was mine? Without any hesitation, without any shame.

I had never kissed Sousuke’s forehead. I had never pushed back his hair to feel the heat from his skin. So why should this whore be allowed to do all that?

And then I knew.

I could never loved Sousuke the way I should have.

But now there was someone who did.

Because I could call the boy a whore, I could call him a prostitute and call him filth and laugh at him- but he loved Sousuke.

He always had.

The same worshipful green eyes glazed over with tears.

The same reverent adoration.

I wish he’d died on the streets somewhere. Before he found his way back into Sousuke’s life. Before he took Sousuke away from me.

Too late now.

Too late for any of us, I suppose.

 

When Sousuke woke up, he smiled at me, seeing me by his side. Like he used to when we were boys and things were still undefined and love was still boundless and our hearts were still free.

But then he called for him again.

The ghost with his green eyes.

_Did he come, Rin? Does he know? Did he come for me?_

Such childlike need.

_No, Sousuke. No one came. No one but me. I was here the whole time, Sou. I’ll stay with you._

And I crossed my fingers and I hoped he’d tell me it was as it should be. That it was fine as long as _I_ was there. That he didn’t need anyone else besides me. And it was fine.

But he tilted his head to the side, and he wept.

For the green-eyed boy who sat by his side, and held the hand that had picked apples for me, and he kissed my Sou’s forehead for the world to see.

And Sousuke’s eyes dulled with the ache of it, though he wouldn’t tell me anything. And he didn’t speak a word to his mother.

And the guilt turned me rotten from within.

 

 

“Rin, can you help me look for a place to stay? I cannot go back there. Not yet.” Sousuke stares out of the carriage window, aimlessly, away from me. In his hand is the thing gold chain he keeps with him all the time.

I could ask him why he won’t throw it away. But I am afraid of the answer.

“Already did. It’s a small house, close to the university hospital, so you can be looked after properly. And Takano will be here by tomorrow to set it up for you. Now don’t yell at me, you know I had to tell him.” I reach out for his fingers, but he pulls his hand away.

“I cannot be angry at you even if I tried Rin.” His smile is so tired, so hopeless.

And I know what I have to do.

I know it cannot be me anymore.

I lost that right so long ago. I lost him so long ago.

“Sou…I…I need you to know something. You asked me before, about… _him_. About that boy. If he came to see you…” The way he looks at me, as if his heart is beating for the first time since that night he almost bled to death- it cuts right through me.

“Why are you bringing that up now, Rin?”

“Because…I lied Sou…He did come. To see you. He sat with you for hours. I don’t think he wanted to leave, but his friend led him away.”

“His friend…Dark hair, blue eyes?”

“Yes…”

“I see. It’s fine Rin. I understand why you didn’t tell me.”

“What happened, Sou? The last time you said…You said you were in…in love with him.” I don’t understand why the words don’t cut my throat as I say them.

With a bitter, measured smile, he tells me everything.

_You were always bad at loving people, Sou. Or you would have never lost me. And I would have never lost you._

So when the green-eyed boy appears in front of us like a phantom in the overheated café, and I see Sousuke’s heart breaking all over again, I know what I have to do.

I love him. I love my Sou. So I must do everything in my power to make him happy. And though it kills me to admit it, I no longer have that power.

His heart could only ever hold just one person inside it.

And his heart belongs to someone else now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since the last update, hasn't it? Anyway, I will be paying more attention to this fic now, until it ends. I think there will possibly be another update in the next couple of days, because I'm at home sick with the flu, and have time off work, and devoting all my Advil-driven energy to SouMako.  
> Also, feel free to discuss this story with me. Fic writers have fragile egos and survive on cheap coffee and readers' comments, so don't hold back, don't be shy. I'm always happy to see some feedback and some analysis.


	35. Bloodied Claws, Broken Wings, Silenced Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke tries to understand his past actions, and holds himself responsible for how things went wrong between him and Makoto.

My life thus far has been following a bleak, narrow path. I walk without any hope of salvation. I walk as a man already condemned to hellfire. It is always night where I am, and in the brambles and hoary trees that grow alongside the path, nightwolves prowl, their eyes glowing like embers.

They say even damned men get a chance to repent. At least once.

For years, I thought it would be Rin. I thought he would come back to me. Forgive me, and accept me, however marginally. I would even agree to sharing him with his wife. I could never understand how one person’s soul could belong to two at once. But I would try, for Rin’s sake. If that is what he wanted of me, if it meant sharing my bed with him properly even once, I would submit to his wilfulness.

It was not Rin, though. I do not think now that it was ever meant to be him.

It was a pair of green eyes. Unnoticed, unloved. The light of salvation. The fleeting grace of an angel’s wings.

But I tainted him with my delusions. I dragged him down to where I was, into the blank abyss of my depraved existence, instead of letting him lift me up.

Though I allowed myself to be wrapped up in the pleasure his arms offered, I must have hated him. I must have wanted to tear his wings off, feather by feather, and tether him to the ground, imprisoned by my side forever.

Holding him close, and whispering false promises in his ears, some part of me must have resented his being. Why was it that the angel sent to save my soul had already fallen from grace himself? Why were his wings already drenched in filth, his eyes glassy with lust? Was I not even worthy of one true chance at saving myself?

I must have hated it.

I must have hated him.

I treated him as something I owned, something I had a divine right to do with as I pleased. I used him up when he was hurting, when he was fragile, when he needed to feel safe in my arms. I fed him on the poison of my words. I lured him in with carefully concocted falsehoods; so convincing I even believed them myself.

I deceived him, pretending my lust for him was affection. I even made myself believe that I loved him. Whore that he was, bought with coins, displaying his secret parts for my pleasure whenever I ordered him to. Did he think he could win my heart with such shamelessness? Did he think my heart was so easy to claim?

And under the canopy of the night, in that hideous place of stone infested with the ghosts of lecherous men, I held him, I whispered secrets in his ears, I called it love as I entered him over and over again. Viciously, like a starving wolf in winter separated from his tribe, I feasted on that poor green-eyed boy, living off the fantasy of love he had so carefully put together for us both.

But I did not love him. How could I have loved him?  

Because if you love someone as much as I claimed to love him, you do not hurt them so unforgivably.

I could not admit it to myself, but when my mother called him unfit to be my companion, when she called him a whore- I could feel the spell breaking all around me. The illusion shifted, and instead of the laughing boy with his adoring smile, all I could see was the prostitute you could fuck for less than a single gold coin. In my mind, I saw him writhing in agony and in ecstasy, being debauched by other men. I saw him enjoying their embrace.

And the faint flame of love that had been warming my soul because of him flickered out.

The thought that I could resurrect him, that I could rescue him, crumbled to nothingness. Since I’d found out about who he used to be, I had only wanted the boy back. I wanted nothing to do with the man he had become.

And so with a few words, with rough hands, and a handful of cold gold coins, I killed him.

I watched him die before my eyes, and all I could feel was stone-hearted curiosity. To see if the boy would take his place. The boy I wanted- untainted and pure. The boy who was to be my salvation.

But a broken heap of fragile, bird-like bones was all that remained of him, sobbing on the floor, begging me wordlessly to accept him the way he was, not the way he used to be.

And then I thought, if I cut off the hands that had tainted him, maybe that would bring him back.

Even the ill-fated quest to avenge him. Even that was a selfish act of my own wilful pride

It was too late- for him, for me- too late. By the time I understood the true ways of love, the clock had struck the hour away, and he was gone from me.

But I must have loved him. With a hateful passion, I must have cherished him.

Not the boy, white and untouched like lilies, shimmering crystalline like stars- no, not the boy at all. I must have loved Makoto after he had been dragged through the grime of a cruel, thieving world.

Makoto, wild and weathered by the stormy wind, like constellations of mauve heather. His simple smile, his plaintive soul- like a daisy. Trampled under so many feet, but still somehow so full of grace, white petals and a small yellow heart- so common, yet so resilient.

But I had warped his forsaken heart. I, who had sworn to be its savior. I dipped it in gaudy gold and placed it a vase of polished jade. I hid it from the sun, deprived it of water, poisoned it with wine.

I punished him for both our sins. I punished him for not being who I wanted him to be. I nailed him to a cross and I killed him. And I could have waited three days, or I could have waited a century. But he would not come back to me, though it was my sins he died from.

 

Or maybe all I wanted was to save him. Save him and return him to the past, to the boy he was, to the boy _I_ had been. Maybe I thought if I could save him, I could save myself too…

 

They tell you stories about how love is supposed to be. They tell you how two hearts start beating as one, and all that clichéd nonsense. That when blood ceases to rush through the chambers of the first, the other follows without hesitation.

But that is not the truth of it. Love is always too late.  You cannot know it was there, biding its time, rotting your soul, until it turns into heartbreak. And that is how the story ended for us- the demon wearing human skin, and the broken-winged angel sullied by lustful men. I took his heart, and I sank my claws into it, and left him with an empty, gaping hole in his chest.

It was only after my hands were red with his blood that I knew.

It was the whore I had loved after all. With all the scars his body was marked with- the ones I gave him, the ones that came before- with all the pain he had stored up, waiting for me for those long, bleak years to take it away and cleanse him of his miseries. He was the one I loved.

_The one I love._

The tarnished heart, the muddied soul. I love his everything.

But he is not for me to claim anymore.

He still came back to me, after all that, and maybe I had always known that he would. Maybe I hurt him over and over again because I knew he could not do without me.

For me, who had been pushed away all his life, it was as if I was using him to purge my own pain by placing the weight of all my sorrows on his weakened shoulders. There was a vicious joy in watching his eyes still flicker with love for me, no matter how badly I treated him.

Maybe I just wanted him to be rid of me.

And he has washed himself clean of me now, I think.

So why did he come back? Why did he seek my closeness, holding me until the sun came up? After everything, after all that I have done, why does he forgive me, over and over and over again? Why does he damn himself for me? Why will he not leave without looking back, and follow the white thread of his freedom out of the desperate turns of my labyrinth?

 

Since that night, after darkness falls, I wait for him to return to me. I will let him hold me. I will let him leave me. I will wait for him again. And again. And again.

 

Night cannot come soon enough.

I light up my pipe, gazing out of the parlour window. I barely hear the door opening.

 

“Can I speak with you? You don’t have to answer me. Just listen for a while, please.” She is dressed in black, like a widow deep in mourning, her hair loosely tied in a braid.

With my good arm, I gesture for her to take a seat.

“It is good to see you out of bed. Takano says you’re going to make a complete recovery. I’m pleased, Sousuke.” Hands folded in her lap, her fingers lacking their usual ornamented adornments, she waits for me to say something, anything.

But I will not. I owe her nothing.

“I heard what your father did. You know, Yashiro did stand up for you. He does care for you, in his own way.” My disinheritance from the clan was declared yesterday. After rumors spread about the reason I attacked that old pervert. And about Makoto. About the boy from a brothel bought by my mother to keep me company. To keep my sinful ways in check.

Strangely enough, it was not the fact that I’d kept a whore with me that was found to be distasteful. It was the whispers of my being in love with a bought boy that made my father finally disown me.

The parchment is ashes in the fireplace now. I smiled when I read through it. Every harsh word felt like freedom.

I believe her when she says Yashiro fought for me. My brother had known about me and Rin years before our parents found out that I preferred cocks to cunts. And though we never talked much, he always looked after me, always made sure I was fine after every fall. Though I never returned his warmth. As the years passed, we became strangers to one another. I doubt things will change much now, even if we wanted them to.

“I will not be able to see you again, Sousuke. After today. So I was hoping we could talk. Even a little.” Her voice trembles slightly, displaying weakness for the first time in years.

Despite myself, I turn to look at her. She smiles sadly, taking in my face, as if trying to memorize every feature.

“I wanted to say how sorry I am, Sousuke. For not loving you like I was supposed to. But you understand that, don’t you? We both have the same failing corrupting our blood, don’t we?”

“I as good as killed him, you know. I wonder if it was your fault or mine, mother?”

The bitterness in my voice echoes hers.

“It isn’t too late for you, Sousuke. You might think it is, but you’re wrong. You can still save yourself. You can still love him, if you want.”

“Wouldn’t you rather I rid myself of him? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Maybe before I almost lost you. Maybe before I had the courage to do what needed to be done.”

“And now?”

“I cannot be his wife if you cannot be his son, Sousuke. It is as simple as that. I…I cannot divorce him. Only he has that right. So I have decided to leave. There is a monastery. They will accept me, after I take the vows, and leave my name behind.”

“And he is letting you? Did he give you his blessing then?”

“I did not ask him Sousuke. He does not know yet. I left a letter. That should suffice. I know you will think it trivial, but I am afraid of your father. I always have been. I have lived in fear for your life, and mine, since the day…I am sorry. I wish I could have been a proper mother to you. But I was so powerless, Sousuke. I felt…”

“So did you feel in control when you threw him and his mother out of your husband’s house? Did you think he’d love you if they left? Did you think buying Makoto for me would…Why did you take him away from me?”

“I wish you would forgive me, Sousuke. And yourself. That is all I came to say. I have no answers for you. I have no explanations to offer for my sins. I have committed them, and they have stained my soul. Even if you do not accept my apology, let him back in your life.”

“It is too late for all that. He is no longer mine.”

“That boy will always be yours, Sousuke. And you will always be his. I hope you can see that. Do not seek to punish yourself for your misdeeds. The world will do that anyway.”

I know I should tell her I forgive her. That I know she did her best. That she always meant well. That we will both be fine in our isolation.

But the door closes softly as she leaves. And there is no more room for words.

 

After a simple dinner in the parlour with Takano and the small black cat he has brought with him- Makoto and Nagisa’s foundling- he helps me remove the bandages. The wound has healed, and the pain almost gone. He tuts at me quietly, expressing his wordless displeasure at my folly. He has not questioned me about Makoto and the boys since his arrival, and I am thankful to him for it.

“I will be going out tonight, my lord. To see some old friends.”

“You mean you’re going to the little alehouse by the docks to play mah-jongg with ill-reputed sailors? And don’t call me that anymore. You know it doesn’t apply.”

“As you wish, then. Sousuke. Should I lock the door? I’ll keep the key so I don’t disturb you when I return.”

“Ah. No, you can leave it open. Rin might drop by. It would be easier that way, I guess.”

He scrutinizes me carefully before nodding.

After Takano leaves, I let my restlessness show. The sleek, night-black cat slinks onto my bed and curls up next to me.

I want him to come back to me.

And if he doesn’t…

I will go to him, then. I cannot let him be, though I know he would be happier if I left him alone.

 

After midnight, I calm myself with a bit of whiskey, trying to read an old book, failing to take in a single word.

I have waited for a week now. For a week he has not come back to me.

But every single night, I stay awake and listen for him.

His step is softer than Takano’s, almost like a cat.

When he walks in, he is startled to see me still awake, standing by the table, pouring myself another drink.

He remains rooted to the floor as I walk towards him and slip my arms around his waist. His eyes close and his mouth opens softly for me as we share a kiss.

_After so long._

It feels as if it’s our first.

In bed with him next to me, both of us naked, sighing out the pleasure of this longed-for nearness into every kiss, both of us afraid of letting the other go.

The sweet shyness of his touch, the rough want of mine- it feels as if it’s our first time.

But I cannot do that to him again. Not right now. Not after everything I’ve already done.

“Let’s stop here tonight, Makoto.”

His breath catches at the sound of his name, and he disentangles himself from me, wanting to leave.

“No. Stay. Please. I want you to…I want to sleep next to you. I can’t seem to sleep on my own. Please, Makoto.”

His looks at me as though he has never seen my face before. He relents to my wishes, as he always has.

 

My head in his lap, his fingers through my hair, darkness without and silence within, and a small black cat curled up at the foot of our bed.

It should have always been like this.

Makoto and Sousuke.

Together.

No whores, no lords, no tragedies, no heartbreak.

Just this quietness, this contentment, this wordless love.

Even if I wake up in the morning on my own. Even if he leaves after I fall asleep. The time I have with him is more than enough. Every breath, every second, every slight touch. I will hold it close to my aching heart for the rest of my life.

Every little thing Makoto chooses to give me, I will save it up, I will horde it like treasure, I will breathe it into my being, I will let it seep right into my bones.

What else do I have to live for?


	36. Interlude: A City without Flowers and a Crumpled Piece of Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto leaves a note for Sousuke.

_I am no good at talking to you._

_Words catch in my throat when I look at you, and all my courage is lost, erased by the thin lines of your lips._

_Since I was a boy, I wanted to tell you that I thought you were beautiful, that somehow, inexplicably, I loved you before I knew what love meant. That my only reason to be on this earth was to love you._

_But my words wavered when I caught your gaze, and my knees turned to parchment folding helpless beneath me, and I felt as if the wind would drift me away as though I were made out of paper. I felt unreal. I felt I only existed as the reflection in your eyes. As long I could be your shadow, I would be real. When you were not around me, when I lost sight of you, my heart questioned its beating, my breath turned cold in my lungs._

_I have always loved your eyes so much._

_I have always wanted to be yours so badly._

_I think I stopped existing for myself a long time ago. No one ever needed me, no one really loved me until now. I was only alive because I loved you. That was my function, that was the purpose of my being. Without you, I was nothing. Without you, I would not mind being nothing._

_And because I could not talk to you, I would leave you flowers. I would whisper my secrets to them as the sun came up, and  I ripped them from the ground, killing their little hearts, and I left them for you. Hoping against hope that they would carry my heart to you, would sing you my love while you slept._

_I have always been foolish._

_I wish I had the guts to tell you all of this myself._

_If only we could remain together in this stillness forever, with my fingers running through your hair, caught up in this moment, caught up together, without words, without secrets, without this constant heartache that will not let me speak to you- if  only we could be here in the sacred silence of this grey-gold predawn light, without any words- I would give everything I have to make my wish come true._

_But the sun will rise, and you will wake up, and look at me with those eyes. And I will choke on my words again. And my heart will break all over again._

_I am not strong enough for that._

_I wish I was, but I am not._

_I tried to look for flowers, but this grim city does not seem to have any._

_So I am leaving you these words instead- words that I can never give voice to._

_I do not think I can forget the things you have said to me._

_I do not think I can look at you, be with you, speak with you, be loved by you without the  constant fear of losing you. Again and again and again._

_I can be your whore if you wish._

_I will warm your bed if you want._

_But I cannot sleep next to you like this anymore. I cannot hear you tell me that you love me. Because I am always afraid of what you will say when the sun comes up, and you see a stranger instead of the boy who loved you with his flowers and his quiet devotion._

_I do love you. I love you so much that I think I am dying of it._

_Because I think my soul no longer knows how to be without loving you. I have prayed for your heart  to be mine for as long as I can remember. I have loved you from afar, and I have loved you with everything I have._

_But I cannot bear to have you look at me as if you hate yourself for loving me. Not anymore._

_I am sorry, Sousuke._

_Please forgive me._

 

_Please forget me._

 

He thinks he can free himself from me with this piece of paper. It crumples up easily in my fist, as I try to stop myself from shaking.

He thinks I will let go, that I will allow him to live apart from me.

When he first walked into my bedroom, and stood naked before me- trembling a little, his face flushed red, his body aching to obey my lust- I had fallen in love with him.

In that moment, I had known for the first time what it was like to need, to want so desperately to own someone’s heart.

He is mine. He should know that by now.

I cannot let him go. Even if it breaks us both all over again.

I am his and he is mine.

I can never belong to anyone else. 

Even if I have to grovel at his feet until my bones turn to dust, even if I have to cut my heart out and show him that it is marked forever with the hurt I have caused him. 

I will do anything, anything.

Makoto is mine. 

 


	37. Green and Blue and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru helps Nagisa prepare a surprise for Makoto, and tries to come to terms with the way things are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions the lotus flower a lot, which is symbolic of rebirth. It grows in muddy water, but blossoms beautifully. The Egyptians also associated it with the sun. The colors represent Makoto and Haru.  
> 

There is colored paper- delicate and beautiful in blue and green, traced with thin lines of gold- littering the carpeted floor of my bedroom.

It was Nagisa’s idea.

Flowers for Makoto. For the boy who blooms for all of us, every morning, brightening even this grey city of old stone and barren streets.

There are no flowers to be found in the city. Not ones that grow in the earth. None that Makoto likes, at least.

Paper scraps flutter around the room, whispering secrets men like me can never be privy to.

Nagisa sits smiling in the center of the room, busy with a pair of scissors, ordering around Rei and Ai.

“Haru, can you help me? I can’t seem to get this right.” Nagisa’s small, thin fingers try to bend the delicate paper to his will, but it rips and tears- the parchment petals of the pale blue lotus disintegrate into hopeless shreds of wasted paper.

Still beautiful. But no longer of any use.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, my eyes sting bitterly, mourning its loss.

How foolish, to cry over something that never had any life in it.

I quietly take the paper from Nagisa’s hand and let my fingers twist and fold and shape it into something Makoto will smile at.

Light dances into the room and filters through the paper, and it shines as though the sun has bestowed it with a soul. The flowers it emulates so gracefully have lent their life to it, if only for a while.

That is what Makoto does to my heart. He smiles and my chest throbs as though I will die. I cry at crumpled up paper, and I make up stories about flowers with souls.

I want to be heartless again, and cold. I want to fold in on myself again, and spend my nights alone- in silence and darkness. That is what I am meant for.

I cannot give him the love he needs.

I cannot be what he needs me to be.

And I know, I know, he will not stay with me.

 

_He will not stay with me._

 

Time circles around me, slowing down when I want it to hasten me to my end. I want my heart to stop beating. I wonder if the pain will end with the last gush of blood that gives life to my body.

It seems deeper than that. It seems as though it surges through my soul. That even beyond my mortality, I will endure this ache. For an eternity.

An eternity without him

Because he belongs to another.

Because he always belonged to another.

And I let myself fall, even though I knew it. I still let his green eyes charm my blue irises into submission. I could never have helped it. It was already too late- the first time I saw him was already too late.

 

Soon there are blue and green flowers everywhere- tinged with gold, illuminated by the fading light of an evening sun.

“You’re wonderful, Haru! I didn’t know you were so good with your hands.” Nagisa is beside himself with delight at the array of lifeless lotuses scattered at his feet.

Ai helps him pick them up carefully, and they both carry the flowers downstairs to the parlor in straw baskets. A game of sweet pretense for Makoto. To make him think it is summer again. To surround him with the charade of life in the midst of this soulless house of stone.

Their chattering laughter echoes off the ceiling, clutters against the walls, and fades into silence.

My hands tremble, no longer having anything to hold.

 

“Do you think he’ll go back to Lord- to Sousuke?” Rei is quietly observing me, concern for Makoto making his brows furrow.

“I think so, yes.” My voice is barely a whisper. If I am too loud, I’ll wake the sleeping souls of the lotuses and they will fetch life away from my paper blossoms.

“And you will let him?”

“He is not mine to keep, Rei.”

“Why not? You are the better man. You can…”

“That’s enough, Rei. I do not want to speak about this matter.”

“But you love him, don’t you? You love him, but you will still watch him leave?”

“He knows I love him, Rei. He knows that. I cannot force him…I cannot make him stay if he doesn’t want to.”

“That isn’t fair, Haru.”

“No. It isn’t.”

We sit in silence, and Rei’s eyes blur with tears that should be mine. And I am grateful to him for that.

 

A door opens below, and voices echo downstairs, reaching us in distorted patterns of distant words we cannot understand.

Nagisa calls for us both to come to the parlor.

It is time. For the flowers. For Makoto’s smile.

Rising from my chair, my head spins for a moment, and I almost lose my balance.

Rei offers a quiet hand to help me, but I refuse him.

This is my own tragedy. And I must take responsibility for it.

 

The tea cups sound like wind chimes as Makoto pours steaming amber liquid into each, and passes them around. He is covered in the paper flowers I have made for him. Some sit at his feet, already disheveled and coming apart. A few in his lap, bending out of shape, back into paper, with every move he makes. One- a small blue one, the first one I shaped- sits behind his left ear, carefully tucked into his brunet locks.

As he hands me tea in a pure white china cup, he smiles at me as though I am the only thing he needs in his life.

And I know my disintegrating paper heart is too little a price to pay for half a glance from Makoto.

The boys are soon distracted by the flowers, turning them back into scraps of paper- beautiful and dead.

 

“Haru, he says he’s going to publish my book.” Makoto leans in towards me, as he always does in the evenings, together with me in my small parlor, with the mauve-tinged light of the setting sun illuminating us.

“I had a feeling he would.”

“So you knew.”

“Of course I knew. You write beautifully. Nao’s been after your words since I first showed them to him.”

“Haru, he paid me. For my words. An advance, to honor my publishing contract, or something complicated like that.”

I can only smile at him. He doesn’t need to tell me anything else. I already know what this means to him. I can see his quiet heart opening up like a lotus blossom- its beauty illuminating the world, its roots sunk deep in the mire of pain and loss which gives it life.

 

“Haru. Thank you.” He does not look at me. His gaze lingers ahead, taking in the innocent joy in Nagisa’s smile, and the first hints of a new kind of affection lighting up Rei’s eyes.

I do not need to answer him. There is no need for words between us.

 

_That still holds true, doesn’t it?_

_His thoughts are still mine to unfurl and cherish, aren’t they?_

“Will you go see him tonight?” The words pour out of me like poisoned wine.

“Haru…”

“I have to know, Makoto.”

“Not tonight. No.”

“If you do not go to him, he will come for you.”

“I know.”

“I see.”

 

Nagisa picks up a blue flower, already unfolding, and starts ripping it up with his fingers thoughtlessly, while intently listening to something Rei is telling him.

“Makoto, is it fine if I sleep alone tonight?”

The blue paper, besotted with false gold tracings, falls to the floor quietly- shred by shred.

“You’re angry at me Haru.”

“That's not true Makoto.”

Nagisa carelessly rumples up the heart of the dying flower in the palm of his hand.

“Haru, I’m sorry. I wanted to stop. You know I did.”

“I’m not blaming you Makoto.”

There is nothing left now but curls of blue and gold littering the floor. Neither flower nor paper. No use to anyone anymore.

 

“It’s fine with me Haru. I can sleep alone. I’ve bothered you long enough as it is.”

“I’m sorry Makoto.”

“Don’t be. I understand.”

 

He smiles at me again, reaching for my cold hand, feeling its shallow trembling.

 

_No Makoto, you do not understand. You cannot understand._

 

 

The flower tucked behind his ear falls as he gets up. Before he realizes it, before I can pick it up and return it to him, it is trampled under his foot.

He picks it up carefully, and places it back in his hair, even though it is no longer beautiful.

Before he leaves, he kisses the top of my head and smiles again.

Another unassailable fragment of my heart breaks away and is lost to the soulless dark- irretrievable, useless.


	38. Interlude: A Poem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first poem that Haru showed to his friend Nao, which brought Makoto to the publisher's attention.

 

 

 

**_My dreams of you wash up in blood_ **

**_Subconscious wreckage piling up at the shore_ **

**_And I wake up drowning, my throat slit_ **

**_Blood in my lungs, and I gasp_ **

**_Waking up is like dying-_ **

**_Your shadow face, obscured by sunlight_ **

**_Your mirror eyes, glinting ruthlessly_ **

**_I should have worshipped you_ **

**_I should have laid myself at your altar_ **

**_You demon-god, protector of failing poets_ **

**_I offer you my words, when you would rather_ **

**_Have my life._ **


	39. The Sound of Your Voice, the Lie of My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisumi thinks about the time he and Makoto spent together in the brothel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisumi finally gets a POV. Sorry, it's a bit long and quite dark. Writing this chapter drained me emotionally and physically. There is implied violence in this chapter, sexual and otherwise. Proceed with caution if you are triggered by either.

He always wrote so passionately.

Bent over the sheets of parchment I’d buy for him, Makoto forgot everything else as he scribbled away furiously. His face would heat up, and after a while his hands would start to shake.

So bad that I’d have to hold them clasped in mine for hours on end.

And after the ink-blotted fingers regained their composure, the tears would fall from those indomitably bright green eyes, and he’d rip the paper apart, scattering white shreds stained with indigo everywhere.

I’d tell him he made it snow. A bad joke of mine. And he’d laugh weakly, letting me kiss his tears away.

 

The book I hold in my hands, bound in deep green leather, embossed with gold letters- it bears his name.

His own name. The one he kept only for me after coming here. The one only I was allowed to call.

For the customers, there were other names he’d make up with my help. The sound of each one made him cringe, he’d say. Made his flesh crawl. But at least, that way, he could keep _Makoto_ safe.  

He made me call out to him-call his true name- for hours on end afterward being ravished by other men.

And a part of me hated him. Hated him so much.

For having a name to hide.

For having someone who’d cared enough to give him one.

 

The words are for me, I know that, though he does not name me.

 

**_Rose-hued shadows of seraphim:_ **

**_Into the haven of this place_ **

**_I fell from hell, ascending grace_ **

**_You plucked me clean of weathered wings._ **

 

I always thought I kept your wings safe for you, Makoto. I tried so hard. I prayed so devoutly. You were supposed to be my salvation, and I your savior.

You always told me I was made up of so many contradictions that you couldn’t find the real me. But you would have hated him if you knew him. You would have hated the nameless thief with a knife in his belt, who lured men driven by unholy lust into dark alleys, and spilled their blood along with their seed.

Men are so unguarded with a pair of sweet lips around their cocks. But you already know that, Makoto. Because I taught you. Because I trained you to be the whore you became.

When you came to me, your wings still shone like lilies washed clean by the summer rain, Makoto. They weren’t weathered at all. Maybe I was jealous of their bright light. Maybe I hated how you could still smile so innocently, even after everything you’d been through.

Maybe I hated you for your name and the pure heart it belonged to.

You thought of me as your friend. Or maybe that’s too simple for either of us to understand what we meant to each other. I betrayed you, and I took away your golden soul from your body, I corrupted it and made it a vessel for the debaucheries of others. So how can you call me your friend? You were always so naïve.

If I confess, if I admit to my sins against you, how would you respond? Can I apologize to you now? Will I be forgiven?

You’d forgive me. I know that. You’d show me your bright smile, with your emerald eyes all closed up, refusing to bear witness to the sins I have committed against you, against myself…

But I cannot forgive myself, Makoto.

I cannot forgive the nights I used you up, pretending to help you, pretending to make the pain pleasant for you. Teaching you how to take pleasure in the debasement we lived by, treating it as a necessity, making it seem as though there was no other choice.

But what other path could we have taken, Makoto?

There was the river. A few boys even used it to escape. You’d go look at it sometimes, quietly considering if it would accept your sacrifice. But I wouldn’t have let you, Makoto. I followed you and brought you back. Do you remember? 

I told myself it was for your sake, but it was just my selfishness.

I should have strangled you that first night. Your shuddering, broken body beside me, tangled in nightmares and losses that cut too deep to be transformed into words.

But you woke up, and I offered you water, and you smiled at me as though I was saving you from some hell your fate had cruelly assigned you to.

I hated myself, Makoto. I have hated myself for what I did to you, for what I did to me.

As our debauched nights drew to a close, we’d be together, washing each other clean. And in your mouth, drinking you in, I would wash away the bitter taste of other men’s sex.

Our soft, sighed kisses lingered as we ushered dawn in together. Warm water mixed with musky oils, our mouths stained with each other’s cum.

I’d tell you I’d be gentle, I’d make you forget about everything that came before, about everyone who used you up.

But it was a lie, Makoto.

I was using you too. Stealing your light from your lips, your body, your caressing presence next to me in the bath. Every morning, I’d baptize myself anew, in water I’d make pure with you and me.

 

**_The pleasured days slept us away_ **

**_Night sinuously resplendent came_ **

**_Our lusting limbs set men aflame_ **

**_I felt my soul drift up to sway._ **

 

Did you know, I started putting money away in a glass jar? A sailor brought you tales of places beyond the horizon, and your eyes lit up as you repeated them to me. We would talk about faraway lands then, about going away one day- together. We’d see the golden expanse of the desert. We’d drink coffee in small stone cups on southern winter nights in roadside cafes where no one would know us.

No one would say, _suck my cock_ , or _I want to watch you two fuck each other_ , or _stop crying you little bitch_. No one would say, _if you want to live another night, if you want food on your plate, spread your legs_.

We would be strangers to everyone and everything but ourselves, Makoto. I promised you, didn’t I? I said we’d run away and board a ship and leave this place behind forever.

And you would fall asleep in my arms, smiling, dreaming of the things to come.

Until we both knew that it was all a lie. Until someone broke you so badly, that my falsehoods couldn’t fix you anymore. Until someone called you by your true name, and you couldn’t protect _Makoto_ anymore, couldn’t hide him away from the cruel world.

And I couldn’t help you.

Your bleeding body and your heartbreaking cries. The intricately carved sword-handle still lodged inside you. The grotesquerie of a man who hurt you, laughing to see you whimper in my arms as I ran to your side.

When you called out for help, it wasn’t my name on your tongue.

 

The jar full of coins broke on the street, its glittering contents spilling across the filthy cobblestones like a dying universe, instead of taking us both across the ocean, all the way to the minarets you dreamed of.

I was going to buy parchment for you, but you would tear it up. I was going to buy ink for you, but your tears would wash it away. I was going to buy you little pink cakes for your tea, but you wouldn’t eat anything.

I didn’t even try to pick the coins back up, Makoto. I wonder who laid claim to them.

I still don’t understand the decisions we made. I still don’t know why I didn’t take your hand one night, and leap out of the window, watching your wings sprout and catch the southern wind, sweeping us both away to a different life. My knife and I- we could have saved you, Makoto. You didn’t need the other man, you didn’t need his name.

I thought to myself- it’s not so bad to get hurt once in a while, if it meant three meals a day, and a bed to sleep in, and a bath to share with you, and the taste of you and your smile, and letting my blade rust as the years went by. Even if you yearned for a love that I had never felt, even if I couldn’t slip my cold rusting blade into the guts of the monster who had ruined you.

I stopped buying parchment for you. You stopped smiling. Do you remember that?

And you’d claw at your own skin in desperation sometimes. I’d pare your nails flat with ivory until the pink skin underneath peaked out. For your nightmares, there was wine laced with laudanum. And opium too. You’d lay your head back in my lap and my hands pleasured you gently, helping you lose yourself. 

 

**_In fleeting clouds of opium smoke_ **

**_The love I shared with you was spent_ **

**_‘fore darkness fled, our wounds we’d mend_ **

**_To freshened grievances we woke._ **

 

Moaning softly at my touch, light-headed with the drowsing drugs, your body forgot its pain, but you wore your heart on your pretty pink lips, and you still cried out for him as you came.

I wouldn’t sleep with you because of the way you’d say his name, Makoto.

I wanted to hear my name from your mouth, and no one else’s.

Not that I was in love with you. I don’t think that was it.

But I loved the person I’d become, sitting next to you, making love to you, taking care of you.

But that’s not how the story ended, Makoto.

You left and I stayed.

You took back your name and gave up my arms.

 

If I had known his name when he fucked me, I would have killed him.

Your Sousuke, your young lord, your only love.

It would have been so easy.

When he came inside my mouth, it wasn’t your name he uttered.

If I knew, I would have bled him out and died for it, and I wouldn’t have any regrets.

 

But you left, Makoto.

And I stayed.

 

*************

 

 

“Good, isn’t it?” Madam Miho, resplendent as always in her moonlight-strewn dress of black velvet, has the same green scripture in her hands as I do.

“Very.” The words before my eyes betray his anguish, and his blood, and his love for that man. I don’t doubt that Madam takes pride in her foundling, consoling herself that at least one of her _children_ has found fame.

“He’s invited us both, you know. Will you go?” Her eyes narrow, focusing sharply on my face, forcing me to do her bidding.

“Yes. I think so.” I look away from her judgment, from her disappointment.

“I won’t. We have no place in his life now, Kisumi. I was hoping you understood that now.” There is sadness in her voice that I have never heard before.

“I know.” Of course I know. Because he left and I stayed.

“But you’ll still go?”

“He invited me. The letter has my name on it.” Tears of defiance cloud my eyes.

She pats my head and sighs, leaving me with my name. My name written in his hand. He has called me. He wants me to come. Why would he write my name in indigo ink if he didn’t want me to go to him?

 

The early spring evening is a bit chilly. I wrap myself up closely in my coat. There’s a roll of fresh parchment in my hand, tied with a pink ribbon.

The house he lives in looks so respectable.

Crossing the bridge, into this part of the city, I feel out of place. I’ve dressed properly, discarding my pink silks for white and brown cottons. But my eyebrows are still arched, my nails long and sharp and red, my hair still colored atrociously. The way I swing my hips as I walk is a habit I can no longer rid myself of.

I should turn back now.

But the door opens, and warm light floods out, and he is at the door.

He smiles at me and calls me by my name.

He’s cut his hair shorter now. It falls across his forehead in unruly strands. He looks happy. Really, truly happy. Though no joy we can partake of in this life is free of the memory of pain anymore. His bright halo is marred with grey strains of sorrow.

I hold onto his hand as I am ushered in.

The eyes inside the house stick to me like poisoned darts, questioning my presence. But as long as I keep looking at him, what do they matter?

His stern, blue-eyed friend is with him. His glare finds me, challenges me, orders me to leave.

But Makoto wrote my name on a letter and sent it to me.

Because he wanted me to come.

Because…

 

It’s the whispers drifting around the room that force me outside his door again.

 

_Isn’t that…?_

_He used to be a whore?_

_Makoto worked where?_

_I never knew._

_How exciting!_

_No wonder his poetry is so raw, so deep._

I lose sight of him, and the room starts spinning, and there is no reason for me to remain.

If I stay, we’ll both lose our names Makoto.

It’ll be the same again. For you. It’ll be like you never left my side.

How can I do that to you?

 

Outside, I lean against a wall to catch my fading breath.

Two whispering voices sound out across the corner- in the alley next to the house- and I know them both.

I should leave now. This is not for me to hear. But the spring breeze carries the sound of his soft sighing, and I lose my reason.

 

“I love you, Makoto. Say you know that. Say you believe me. Please.”

“Sousuke, aahhhh…don’t…”

“I won’t let you go. I’ll make off with you. You are mine. Please, please.”

“I…unhh…”

“Say you love me.”

“Sou…”

“Say the words, Mako, please.”

“It’s…”

“Please.”

 

The fading sun gives in to night. The house of stone echoes with voices sure of themselves, with their careless laughter. I hear his soft sigh on the gentle breeze once more, bearing the scent of the ocean.

I should stop my ears and blind my eyes, but I cannot help myself.

 

They’re so close to each other, they might as well be one. Their shadows dance beneath them under the light of the yellow, bloated moon.

His lips are on Makoto’s, his hands under Makoto’s shirt.

Makoto’s arms are around his lover’s waist, clutching at the back of his coat, clinging softly.

As they break apart, Makoto moans his name- the same name I’ve heard so many times before- letting his head rest on the taller man’s shoulder.

 

If it were not for this name, I’d have taken you away Makoto. We’d be in a city of domes and archways and minarets, marked with words we couldn’t read, glowing with lapis lazuli and jade in the red glow of the desert sun.

 

“Say it Makoto.”

“I…I love you. I love you Sousuke. I can’t live without you.”

The dark-haired man pulls Makoto closer and kisses him again, deeper and longer than before.

 

They do not notice me at all. The world around them could catch fire and burn, but they would not see it, would not hear anything but the sound of their names in each other’s mouths.

There is no reason for these tears to cloud my eyes.

I knew how it would end.

I knew it when he left, and I stayed behind.

He was never mine, and I was never his.

But as long as he was with me, I wasn’t alone.

_I wasn’t alone, Makoto. With you, together with you…_

*************

 

The incense and the dim lights douse my senses. My limbs are heavy and weary. The letter with my name on it is crumpled up, throw into the swampy river separating Makoto from me.

The air is heavier than usual. Madam Miho is not in her usual place.

Some of the boys are cowering in dark corners.

It’s only when I reach the stairs that I hear the screaming.

The voice is so broken, so pitifully small. He must have been screaming for hours now, he sounds spent.

 

I wonder who it is. I cannot put a face to the pained, wordless cries descending the stairs.

But I recognize the laughter. I would know it anywhere.

My feet refuse to obey my reason. I am glued to the floor, watching him leave, wiping bloodied hands on a burgundy cloak, picking up a hat, lovingly patting the intricate carvings on his sword handle.

I should cut his cock off with that gruesome sword and shove it down his throat until he chokes on it.

 

Madam Miho’s voice calls me back to reality, and I follow it up the stairs.

The boy is bleeding. He must be younger than Makoto was when he was first brought here. I hope he isn’t as young as he looks. His olive skin shines feverishly. His damp, dark hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. His eyes- deep and brown and shining like the sun- are wide with the surprise of unbearable pain. The white gown he’s dressed in, its bottom half tainted with crimson, spreads out underneath him. It stands out against the black satin sheets, like the broken wings of a small dove.

When he sees me, he cowers and shakes, trying to draw away. My hands find him and soothe him until he stops shaking. I clean him up and carry him to my room. He speaks words in a language I cannot understand. I think he is trying to thank me.

Madam Miho found him on the docks, abandoned by a departing ship, starving, unable to make anyone understand his speech. At least that is what she says.

The tears in my eyes- I no longer know who they are for- me, Makoto, or this broken little bird in my arms.

“Say Kisumi.”

He looks at me blankly. The warm milk laced with honey and laudanum has calmed him down. Same as it did with Makoto.

“Ki-su-mi. That’s my name.” I point to myself.

“Ki-soo-mee…” His pale lips ease into a slight smile as he speaks, grabbing my hand and looking at my long nails, painted crimson.

“Yes, that’s right. And what’s your name?”

He stares at me again, whispering unfamiliar words.

“Your name.” I point at his heart and arch my eyebrows questioningly.

He looks at me carefully, as though he’s trying to see into my heart.

“Nasser.” He smiles shyly at me again, pointing at his face.

“That’s a pretty name. Nasser.” I ruffle his hair, tracing the remnants of tears still glistening on his cheeks.

“Ki-soo-mee. Nasser.” He calls out with one finger aimed at me, and another at himself.

“If he touches you again, I’ll kill him. I promise, Nasser. I will kill that monster.”

He nods as though he understands me.

 

_I couldn’t save you Makoto. But I won’t let him hurt anyone else. Never again._

_I promise you._

_Even though you left, and I stayed._

_Even though you left me._

 


	40. A Dream, A Poem, A Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke has two unexpected visitors.

The night is pitch-black around us, like the embrace of oblivion-starless and moonless- melding into the ground beneath us. The only sound breaking the heavy silence of the midnight moor is the breath breaking out of his lungs and into my mouth.

The embrace of our bodies is so absolute that I cannot tell the difference between his limbs and my own. The heat from where we are joined together threatens to engulf us both and set fire to the sunless sky above us.    

The suddenly gusting wind catches us by surprise. Lightning crashes through the darkness, and all around us the moor is wreathed in purple heather. He laughs my name in his breathless voice.

We run and run and run through the wilderness, trampling the heather. I can see his laughing face in flashes, losing him to the roar of thunder. My hand firmly clasped in his, he leads me to the heart of the moor, to an aged oak promising us shelter.

As we cower under its ancient, windswept branches, rain comes down in torrents around us. The cold seeps into my bones and my shoulder throbs with unbearable agony.

He smiles at me as if he knows of every anguish my heart has sustained since my birth. Lightning rips the night apart once more, and thunder shrieks a chorus of impending loss.

Always this feeling of losing him. Always this fear clutching me with cold fingers- awake or asleep.

He smiles his savior-smile for me. With a glinting piece of glass, he slices his chest open. Light pours forth, cascading blindingly out of the place where a beating heart should be. He removes a small glowing fragment from himself, its edges sharply jagged . He offers it to me with bleeding fingers. He smiles at me as he disappears into the darkness, even as I try to put him back together.

And then it’s daylight, and I am surrounded by a host of glistening heather, crying out his name, clutching his splintered heart in my blood-wet hands.

 

“Isn’t it time you brought him back?” Takano’s voice echoes through the dimness of my curtained bedroom.

I am covered in sweat. The scar on my shoulder feels as if it’s on fire. My breath comes out in short, painful gasps. His name is still on my dry lips.

“Water, please, Takano.” My head feels light, my thoughts are undefined as they chase each other confusedly through my mind.

His smiling face, his crimson fingers, his smile- I cannot banish the image from my mind.

My heart beats to the syllables of his name.

I want him. I want to hold him. I want to put him back together- whole and safe- in my arms.

Takano looks more concerned than usual as he holds a glass of water to my chapped lips, helping me drink the lukewarm liquid.

“Maybe a little medicine for the pain?” He helps me balance myself, as I try to rise out of bed and wince uncontrollably.

“You mean laudanum?” I am sick of the drugs numbing my system. I want to feel every aching stab that ravages my body. It is the only penance I can pay for the words I have said to Makoto.

“No. That is a dangerous habit. A bit of whiskey in your coffee will be better, I think.” Takano ruffles my hair indulgently. An old gesture from my childhood. I keep forgetting how much he doted on me, how much he still spoils me.

“And some rolled eggs, please.” I ask him petulantly, as if I’m 8 years old again, sick in bed, and Takano is ready to spoil me rotten until I am well again.

After he leaves the room, I manage to get out of bed and wash myself in the basin. The room is small and airy, with sheets and draperies the color of sea-foam. Quite a contrast to my chambers in the castle. 

I dress myself, remembering the touch of Makoto's trembling fingers as he buttoned my shirt on his first morning with me, trying to act like a dutiful page. He blushed so prettily, it made my heart ache.

I wrap myself up in a black wool robe Takano has insisted on buying for me, and sit at the barren desk by the window, blankly staring at the words he left me so many nights ago.

It’s a morning ritual now, and a prayer before bedtime.

The black cat, grown quite fat and lazy, settles down in my lap. Her warmth is comforting, and I feel myself grow calmer.

Breakfast with Takano in the parlor makes me wish for a life I can never have. Simple, comforting, free of heartache. Takano tells me news of the city as we eat, and strange anecdotes he’s gathered from the sailors he plays mah-jongg with. Both of us clad in comfortable robes- with nothing much to do, and nowhere to be- growing indulgently old. It’s not the worst life.

 

The food and whiskey ease my discomfort, and find myself drifting back to sleep.

“Are you going to sleep again all day? You’ll be as uselessly fat as this cat by the end of the month.” Takano chides me as he clears the table.

Though I hate having him act like my servant, he insists on doing most of the housework, saying it makes him feel useful. 

“And what would you have me do? Go strolling in the park with Kou?” I try to keep the conversation lighthearted, knowing what Takano means.

Takano looks at me mournfully for a brief instance, as though observing a man already lost.

Then he withdraws a small book, bound in deep green leather, from the spacious folds of his tweed robe.

“He sent me a copy yesterday. It hasn’t been published yet.” Takano observes me carefully as I reach out for the book.

After Takano leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him, I hold the book in my hands as though it’s Makoto’s heart.

I cannot open it. I cannot read the words inside it. I do not have the right anymore, do I?

My fingers shaking, I open the covers.

The first page bears a dedication to Takano. Words sweet and honest, devoid of the artifice of forced sentimentality.

And his name.

The tips of my fingers caress the markings in cerulean ink, reaching out for him.

There is desire coursing through my veins, and want crashing in my heart like billows breaking on the shore. And underneath that is something deeper, warmer, almost eternal. Or as close as I can come to the knowledge of what _forever_ means. 

He should be with me. We should be together.

It doesn’t matter than I do not deserve him, and that he should hate me for the things I have done to him.

An invisible thread binds us together- dyed crimson, sharp as knives- shredding my fingers to rags as I grasp onto it, finding my way back to him.  

I let the green scripture fall onto my desk. It flutters open, and his words are before my eyes.

I know so little of him.

I barely know what he thinks of me.

I wonder how long he’s loved me for.

The words find focus in my eyes, and I cannot tear my gaze away.

They must be for me.

Why else would it hurt so much to read them?

The words blur before my eyes before I can finish reading them. 

How few fragments of your life you shared with me, my love. There is so much of you I could never have known in the briefness of our time together. I sought you for your body, for your warmth, for the haze of venomous desire that incensed me when I was near you. I remember the way you sighed, the way you moaned my name, the way you gasped your pleasure, writhing beneath my oppressive weight.

And you hid your thoughts from me, and you never said a word of your grief to me. You carefully boxed up your life- tearing it apart, putting it back together- always trying to please me.

_I never knew. I never knew._

_I am sorry Makoto._

_If you let me love you now, if you let me back inside your heart, I swear…_

 

 

The door snaps open impatiently, and I am not alone anymore. Pages flutter quietly, and the words blur before my eyes.

“I hope you don’t mind? I let myself in.” She is dressed warmly in an pale pink woolen cloak, radiating a subtle glow. Pink cheeks and pale blue eyes. Her hair sparkles like spun silver threads curled up in bunches. It was this unearthly hair that first drew Rin’s eyes towards her.

I doubt Rin knows about this visit. Kaoru has always been wary of me. Even at the wedding, I could tell the smile she wore in front of me was forced. Somehow, without a single word being exchanged between us that wasn’t politely formal, we have seen each other as rivals from the day we first met.

And I see the same look of hesitant hatred in her eyes now as she takes a seat across from me.

Has she come for a delayed retribution of some sort?

“I hope I didn’t disturb anything important?” Her derision makes itself obvious in the slanted smile she offers me.

I am bad at words. I am no use when it comes to playing games with the likes of her. Rin’s mother used to call her a fox in the shape of a petite, pretty girl. Deceptively sweet. Always ready with traps to spring.

One hand still on the book, steadying me, I meet her gaze without any nervousness.

“As communicative as ever, I see. I’ll get to the point then. Are you sleeping with my husband?”

“I’m sorry?”

The blatancy of the accusation takes me by surprise.

“He keep moping and whining. More than usual. So I'm worried. Is it because of you? Did you try to get him to be your lover or something?”

“I…No, of course not.”

She peers at my face closely, taking in every detail. If I didn’t know her, my gaze would falter. But I stand my ground, letting her judge the truth from my eyes.

“You’re not lying. I guess. But you’re pining. Are you still in love with him?”

“No. I’m not in love with Rin. Not anymore.”

“Then who are you in love with?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Ugh, you men are always obvious. You think you’re brooding mysteriously, and being discreet. But you’re merely acting like clueless buffoons stumbling around a darkened room, looking for the door, thinking you’re being oh so quiet while knocking down vases and tripping over ottomans.”

I cannot help but laugh. I could never hate her the way I wanted to. She could have been a good friend to me, stronger than I have ever been. But our lives have always been too much at odds with each other.

She joins in with me, laughing cautiously, a bit more relaxed.

“I love Rin, Kaoru. I don’t think I will ever stop loving him. But I’m not your rival anymore. I will never try to take him from you.” The words are meant to be reassuring, but she appears to find them amusing.

“Is it bad that I hoped you would steal him away? So I could be free and blame you for what the world saw as my misery?” She sighs and leans back in the couch that’s a little too big for her petite frame.

“Are you sure I’m the right person to have this conversation with, Kaoru?”

“I…I don’t even know why I came to see you. But no one knows Rin better than you.”

“You’re wrong about that, I think. I never tried to really know him. I was just hellbent on _having_ him.”

We sit in silence for a while, lost to our own memories of Rin. Thinking about every _if,_ every _might have been_.

“Do _you_ still love Rin, Kaoru?” The small book is still in my hands, Makoto's name gold on green ethereally glimmering before my eyes. I suddenly wonder what I would do if he tells me he is no longer in love with me, that he no longer wants me.

When Rin told me he didn’t want me, I felt angry, deprived, cheated. I wanted to destroy everything, take his life and mine, and plunge us both into damnation.

If I lose Makoto, I think I will fade out of existence. Slowly, but surely. There is no longer an idea of a life without him, without loving him. I do not think it matters anymore if he loves me back or not.

I used to think that being in love with someone meant possessing them, having ownership of their body, refusing to let them love anyone else. But that’s not love, is it? I still do not fully understand the nuances of this turbulent emotion. It changes from light to dark, like the faces of a carefully carved gem. All I know, without any room for doubt, is that Makoto is precious to me. That I could not stand it if he came to any harm, if he was ever unhappy.

I cannot repeat the mistakes of my past. I cannot give in to the old temptations rotting my heart.

Kaoru breaks my reverie with a soft sigh.

“Love is too strong an emotion for me to understand, Sousuke. I like Rin. I am very fond of him. I don’t mind sharing my life with him. But love…I was ordered to marry him, you know. So it isn't like I had a choice. I envied you so much. You had the freedom to love him, to hate me. I think that was the true reason I despised you so much. That you could feel what you wanted, even if you had to pay the price for it. I am bound to one name after another. I have to love who I am supposed to love, though what I'd like best is to be myself and not be bothered about anyone at all.” She smiles at me a little fondly, as though she no longer sees me as her foe. 

Takano brings some tea and a small plate of cakes. The kind Makoto used to like. I guess Takano still bakes them, hoping that he will return to us one day.

Kaoru and Takano share gossip and news about everyone we know, reminiscing about the past splendors of our families. I wonder what sort of life I would have had if I was not born to the Yamazaki clan. I could have been a sailor, I could have been a shipping clerk at the harbor, I could have owned a tea shop somewhere in the city.

And would all those lives have led me to Makoto?

I could have bought him once, with a coin, and fallen in love with him anyway. I could have run away with him, and sailed far away. Or I could have spent a lifetime never knowing the sweetness of his touch, loving only the idea of him, wasting away alone.

“What are you reading, Sousuke? You were never much of a reader, as far as I remember?” Kaoru takes a break from fussing over Kou, and trying to feed the complacently round, furry beast more cake.

“Ahh. Just a poem, I guess.” A smile steals across my lips, thinking of Makoto bending over a piece of parchment, thoughtfully chewing the nib of a quill, leaving ink stains on his pink lips. An overwhelming urge to hold him takes me over.

“Can I hear it? I love poems. Especially ones that make me cry. I seem to be incapable of feeling emotions without literary assistance.” She puts down her teacup, eager for the words.

The words spill forth, and I hear my own voice echoing in the small room. My mind is ablaze with the time I’ve spent with him. I am back in my old bedroom, thrusting on top of him, calling out his name for the first time, watching his eyes widen and his cheeks flush at the sound of it.

I want him. I want him so much.

 

_**For three nights my dreams were yours** _

_**Infused with the shadow of you** _

_**My headless demon-lover, my heart’s ache** _

_**We talked, of love maybe, and you said** _

_**“If not you, who else?” and I woke up cold,** _

_**With the hurt of it still in my panic-stricken s** _ _**oul.** _

_**In the gloaming between awake and asleep** _

_**Your kiss quavered at the tip of my mouth** _

_**Reverberating through the ether, crossing over** _

_**Almost, almost touching, but then the piercing** _

_**Gaze of the sun, the waking, and my bleeding lips.** _

_**Night again, dark as your unseen face, we slipped** _

_**Out of both our dreams, traversing the emptiness of sleep** _

_**Like furtively moving leaves of grass the wind mourned through** _

_**They will find us in the morning, we said, and ran on** _

_**And we laughed, though you loosened your hand holding mine.** _

 

 

After I finish, the silence in the room is palpable.

Kaoru wipes a few stray tears from her eyes. Takano hides his expression behind his hands, lowering his gaze. Kou sleeks her way to my lap, sensing my need for comfort, settling there soundlessly.

“Is he the one? The man who wrote this? Is he the one you love?” Kaoru’s voice is no more than a whisper.

“Yes. Makoto wrote this.” I feel a strange pride swell inside my heart. _Yes it is my love who wrote such spellbinding words._

“Do you think it’s about you?” Takano’s tired words ask the question I should be asking myself.

_Is it about me? When did he write it? What made him feel so lost?_

A scene takes shape before my mind’s eyes. Two boys sleeping safely in the dim glow of candlelight, watched over by a pair of green eyes. Ghost stories and hurtful words driving him out into the cold night. And the fevered nightmares I held him through, almost losing him to the darkness. My fault. All my fault.

“Maybe. Among others. I am not the only one who hurt him.”

“But you are the only one he loved.” Having spoken his mind, Takano gets up a little too quickly, and leaves the room.

“You hurt him? How?” Kaoru takes the book from me and skims its pages, her eyes dim, her brow furrowed.

And I tell her everything. For some strange reason, I find myself confessing my guilt to her, admitting things I have not acknowledged even to myself.

“But he still came back to you?” She returns the book to me, looking pensive.

I have no answer for her. I do not know why he keeps coming back to me. How much love is in the heart that can forgive such sordid transgressions? 

“And what are you doing to earn his forgiveness, exactly?” Kaoru suddenly crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows at me.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what have you done for him? Have you sent him flowers? Have you thrown yourself at his feet, begging him to take you back? Or have you been sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself, waiting for him to spend away all his patience, trying to love a useless cold lump of stone that you possess instead of a heart?”

“I…”

“That means you’ve done nothing, obviously.”

“Well…”

“ _Tsk._ What kind of a lover are you? You will come with me right now, and pick out some presents for him. A nice perfume maybe? And I think he would look fetching in a silk shirt. What color are his eyes? Oh, and get him a pen, if he likes to write. And roses. Or orchids? I don’t know. But you won’t win him back sitting on your useless behind, moping over books and turning as fat as your cat.”

Kaoru rails on and on, suggesting one scheme after another to win back Makoto’s favor. Listening to her makes my heart feel lighter. All these suggestions are so simple, so common to every courtship.

And she is right. I am free to woo Makoto now.

He can refuse me, but I have to try my best. I will shower him with gifts, I will pour words of love in his ears, I will bring him flowers every day, to make up for all the years apart.

 

There is an uncertain knock at the door, and Takano walks in, looking perplexed.

Behind him is a very familiar figure, with a mop of golden hair on top of his head.

Kou leaves my lap and runs right up to Nagisa, recognizing him immediately, even after so many months apart.

He blushes as he looks up at me, looking rather guilty.

“Does Makoto know you’re here? Did you tell Haru before leaving?” Takano sounds worried, and it dawns on me that Nagisa came here on his own.

“Ummm. No. I…I’m sorry…But…” He stutters helplessly, looking at me a little shyly for support.

“Nagisa, that is not safe at all. Not in a city you don’t know. How did you even find this place?” Takano continues berating him, clutching the left side of his chest as though his heart is about to leave his body from worry.

“I saw a note. With the directions written on it. Makoto had it. I…I came to give you this. Please, come see us. We miss you. Do you miss us? Makoto won’t talk about you anymore, and Rei yells at me if I…” Nagisa breaks down weeping.

Kaoru looks utterly baffled at this new development, while Takano puts an arm around the boy to soothe him comfortingly.

“I’m sorry Nagisa. Things are…different now. I miss you too. But you cannot come here like this, without an adult.” I was only ever thinking about Makoto. I didn’t even realize my actions would have consequences for Nagisa and Rei. 

Thisnewsurge of guilt cripples my heart.

“I just…I came here to give you this. Please, please come.”

It’s a piece of white paper, shiny and sturdy. An invitation to Nanase’s house. A celebration for Makoto and his book.

“Nagisa…I cannot…”

“Please. Please, you have to come back! He misses you so much. I know he does. He still cries in his sleep. You can’t just leave him! You can’t just abandon us!” His childish anger flares like shooting star before his voice trembles and breaks.

Kaoru takes the invitation from Nagisa’s hands and examines it closely.

“You’d be the stupidest man alive if you didn’t use this opportunity.” 

“She is right, you know.”

“Please, Sousuke. We miss you.”

Three against one.

A battle I am pleased to lose.

Of course I will go. The end of the night will see him in my arms again, next to me, in my bed.

 

 

 


	41. Interlude: First Love and the Coming of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rei thinks about the people in his life- his conflicting feelings about Nagisa, his respect for Haru, and his disdain for Makoto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and chapter 40 before it, cover the events leading up to the Kisumi POV chapter.  
> Before this chapter begins, I think it's best to establish a timeline of events, and the characters' ages. It has been around 2 years since Makoto first came to the Yamazaki estate. He was 19 then, as was Haru. Sousuke was 23. I did not give Nagisa and Rei fixed ages at that time, but for clarity's sake, they were both 11 and 13 respectively.  
> As of this chapter, Makoto and Haru are both 21, Sousuke and Rin are 25, Rei is 15, and Nagisa is 13. I'd say Kaoru is the same age as Makoto and Haru. Nitori is 18, and so is Momotaru. Takano is pretty old, I'd say around 60. Hope this helps. I may have mentioned their ages before, but I don't remember. Anyway, this is what I'm going with now.

Makoto has nightmares about before.

I think I should be happy that I don’t. That I never endured something so horrific that it won’t even let me sleep at night, that it wakes me up with the sound of my own helpless screaming.

I had Nagisa and Nagisa had me. For as long as I can remember. For as long as I choose to remember.

There are pieces of my past that I can put together to form a coherent picture if I try hard enough. But I don’t really need to lean on the past anymore.

Nagisa and I have both drifted around since we were children, untethered and free from the confines of personal histories.

Sometimes, Nagisa sneaks into my bed and asks me about the time before. About our parents, how we found each other, the kindness of the villagers, the beggared food.

It gets bothersome, the way he clings to the made-up stories, like the fairy tales Makoto fills his head with. Make-believe trash.  

Nagisa thinks Makoto is beautiful, like someone from a story. Haru probably thinks that too.

It’s only because they haven’t seen him for who he really is. Not yet.

Maybe that’s why Sousuke left him. Because he could see the darkness hiding behind those green eyes.

Makoto's smile reeks of lies, and his body is tarnished with the passing of years. I’ve seen him trying to scrub it bloody. I’ve seen him huddled up in quiet corners after dark, trying to hold himself together, when everyone thinks he’s gone back to sleep after the nightmares.

He isn’t beautiful at all.

I do not understand why he clings to the darkness inside him, why he lets it sully him still. Only those who are guilty of some sin punish themselves like he does.

And he is punishing Haru along with himself.

For that, I find it hard to forgive him.

Nagisa worries about him all the time, too. Makoto this, and Makoto that. It’s all he ever talks about nowadays. Fretting needlessly over that mess of a human being.

What’s the point of wasting tears over someone who doesn’t want to be saved?

Makoto feeds on people’s sympathy like a leech and takes advantage of their kindness. Why else would you share one man’s bed, kiss his lips, and then go crawling back to another?

But Haru keeps trying to make him happy, at the cost of his own heart. It isn’t fair at all.

Haru deserves better than that.

It was Makoto’s foolishness and his tainted gold coin that got Nagisa and me hurt before, that snatched us away from our old life and landed us in a brand new one. His kindness comes at a dark price. Nothing about him is pure.

With the oncoming spring, there will be a temptation to start over again. He might go back to Sousuke. In fact, I think he will go back to Sousuke. He’s weak. He hides his fragility behind a façade of selfless sacrifice and teary-eyed wilfulness. The life he had before must have taught him a few tricks on how to manipulate the hearts of men.

It isn’t that I _wanted_ to know Makoto’s past. I just pieced it together from things I heard, things I saw. Like a dreary jigsaw puzzle with half the scenery blurred with age and decay and neglect.

I cannot imagine what life would have been like for him, selling himself for the assurance of food on his plate every night.

But it gives him no right to drag the rest of us into his personal hell. He isn’t being fair. Not at all.

I can see that Makoto’s glass-thin beauty would attract the eye of easily-swayed men like Sousuke, that his strange whore’s purity would enchant the heart of someone like Haru with its contradictions.

He must know how to get his worth in gold coins from them by now. What else has he done to earn a place in Haru’s heart, in Haru’s home? And in Sousuke's, for that matter? That book he’s written, how much money will that bring in for him? He’ll never really be able to take care of himself. He’ll always have to rely on others.

And Nagisa idolizes him. What if Nagisa turns out to be the same? What if I’m not around to protect him anymore? What then? Would he end up in the same gutter Makoto crawled out of?

It makes me nauseous just thinking about it.

I wonder more often than I’d like, about what I would have done in Makoto’s position. And one thing is always clear. I wouldn’t have debased myself the way he did. I would have died first.

Sometimes I want to ask him if it was worth it. If this life that he has right now is something he aspired to when his body was being used up. I think I would hate him if I didn’t find him so pitiful.

He could have stayed with Sousuke and played his concubine, couldn’t he? Why the sudden pretensions of lost love and broken trust? It should have be enough to have a roof over his head and food on his plate. Why did he have to come back to Haru? Why did he come to the city with us? I never had any need of him. Haru would be better off without him. We all would be. 

Kissing Haru and sleeping in his bed like that. And then crawling off after Sousuke like a rat in the night.

I might learn to hate him yet.

 

And Nagisa worships him. Dreams of bringing flowers for him. Makes up stories about him. Thinks of him as some of kind of savior.

I would have protected Nagisa, Makoto or no Makoto. No matter where the two of us ended up.

I would have done anything.

We didn’t need any of this. Didn’t ask for any of this.

This stilted dependence on people who can’t even take care of themselves. I don’t want it. I don’t want it.

 

Even this morning in a faceless city which doesn’t ask questions about my past, doesn’t hold me accountable for anything, accepts me for who I right now- I cannot think myself free.

I thought if I could come here and learn new things and stand on my own two feet, Nagisa and I would be able to go our own way again. But this web of twisted connections- its threads dripping with the poison of distrust and lies- it has us both trapped. We cannot get away.

The city begins to wake up as I hasten my pace along its cobbled streets. I crave this stony solitude. Waking up a little before dawn, on my own, and venturing out under the still-flickering gas lamps as the sun rises behind the city’s red arches and grey gables. I can clear up my head this way, empty it of its corrupting thoughts.

 

Nagisa has taken to sleeping with Makoto, since Haru doesn’t like sharing his bed anymore. The truth is that Haru’s heart is broken. And he doesn’t want to show it to anyone. Especially to Makoto. But he cannot hide it from me. I wish he’d have a good cry on my shoulder, like Nagisa used to, and find a better man to love than Makoto.

Nagisa says Makoto needs someone to sleep with because of his nightmares. He doesn’t know that Makoto only pretends to sleep. I’ve found him in the morning, shivering on the floor on his own, his eyes bloodshot and his voice hoarse. I think he goes out to the docks on his own sometimes, like he used to walk to the wood at night when we were at the castle.

Pathetic. Weak. Unable to fix himself or let anyone else do the job for him.

Nagisa used to like sleeping next to me before. Even though we had our own beds after we came to live with Sousuke, he would still slip in next to me, reminding himself of the warmth we shared when there was no one else around to take care of us.

But now there’s Makoto.

Makoto needs Nagisa. Just like he needed Sousuke. And Haru.

And one day, Makoto will disintegrate into a mess of shrieking madness and what will I do with Nagisa then? How will I explain Makoto to him? How will I explain the cruelty of this world and what it does to those who cannot protect themselves?

One day he will understand what kind of person Makoto is. And I am afraid of that day. I am afraid of what that knowledge will do to Nagisa. I am afraid of losing him…

 

The front door of the house is wide open. There is sound of hastened movement within, spilling out onto the street. Makoto is sitting on the porch in his robe, barefoot, his hands clasped in his lap, his eyes red.

He never really sleeps anymore. But this is still out of the ordinary.

As he sees me, he runs down and grabs me by the shoulders, looking around me frantically, as though he’s expecting someone else to jump up from behind me.

“What is it, Makoto?” I manage to dislodge myself from his frenzied grip.

“N-Nagisa. He’s not with you?” I have never seen Makoto look so terrified before.

“Why would he be with me? He sleeps with you now, doesn’t he?” A weighted dread threatens to drown my bitter heart as I begin to understand the situation.

Haru comes out of the house, followed by a tearful Nitori.

“He’s not with you, then.” Haru looks at me disappointedly.

“It’s my fault, Haru. It’s all my fault.” Makoto breaks down against Haru’s shoulder.

_Yes. It is your fault. He wanted to look after you because you’re useless. But you lost him. It is your fault._

“Stop it, Makoto. Rei take him inside. Momotaru is already searching by the docks. I think I know where he might be.” Haru takes control in a quiet, commanding voice.

But I don’t want to touch Makoto. I don’t want to look at him. Not until I know Nagisa is fine.

“Nitori can do that. I want to come with you Haru. I want to look for him.” I brush off Makoto as he reaches for my arm, and step away from his surprised face.

“I’m sorry Rei.” Makoto looks at me closely before turning away. He walks back inside the house slowly, staggering a little, refusing Nitori’s anxious concern.

“Rei. I’m asking you to take care of Makoto. So please do as I say.” Haru looks slightly taken aback at my disobedience. I have never before refused to do what he tells me.

I nod hesitantly, not meeting his gaze, and he hastens away with Nitori, leaving me behind. With _him_.

 

Inside the quiet parlor, with the clock ticking away our heavy minutes into the oblivion of an irretrievable past, we hide from each other’s eyes in silence.

When the door creaks open, and Nagisa stumbles in, straight into Makoto’s arms, I feel like I’ve waited in this suffocating room for a century.

Makoto just stares at him, tears dulling his eyes. Unable to do anything but clutch onto Nagisa, like a drowning man reaching for thin air, expecting a miracle.

Nagisa keeps looking over at me nervously, wanting me to go to him, to hold him close and tell him it’s okay and I’m not angry and there’s nothing to worry about as long as he made it back to me safe and sound.

But I can’t offer him that anymore.

Something in the way I look at him isn’t the same anymore.

Something about wanting him close to me- it’s not the same feeling of protectiveness I used to have.

I feel like I should be protecting him from myself, though I don’t know the reason for it.

Don’t people just end up getting hurt that way? When you want something more from them? Things they cannot give you, and if they try to, it breaks them? Like Makoto.

I would never want to do that to Nagisa. I will never let anyone use him like that.

 

And Makoto’s tears won’t stop flowing. As though no one else can weep for Nagisa but him.

With his bright eyes clouded, and his dark heart bleeding.

“Makoto don’t cry. I only wanted to see Sousuke because I missed him. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought you and Haru wouldn’t let me see him.” Nagisa pats Makoto’s head gently, as if such a small gesture can fix someone so damaged.

“You should have told Rei. You should have asked Momo to take you. Please don’t ever go out alone like this. If anything happened…Nagisa, promise me! You will never do something this again.” Makoto shakes Nagisa forcefully, both of them reduced to useless tears.

“I’m sorry, Mako. I promise. I won’t do it again. I promise. So please stop crying. I don’t like it when you cry.” It is not Nagisa’s job to try and console this wreck of a man. Nagisa should not be burdened with these worries when he’s so young.

How can I protect Nagisa if he keeps putting himself in harm’s way for the sake of others? How can I make him happy if he won’t stop hurting for the pain of others?

How can I protect him from my own darkness? When I crave his warmth in bed at night, when I…

This kind of love, it destroys you.

If I dare…If I follow the path dictated by desire, won’t it ruin us both?

This kind of love, this need to have him next to me all the time, to posses him entirely, let no one else touch him- this is poisonous.

I would want to love Nagisa with the purest heart, like Haru.

But I see dark shadows against the wall as I try to sleep at night, and voices sighing in unseemly echoes, twisting around each other, calling out to God and each other.

This is the truth of the love I have burning inside me like a doomed city.

But I won’t let its flames engulf Nagisa.

I cannot…I cannot be responsible for something like that. The world has enough Makotos. It doesn’t need another.

 

The realization breaks through me like a seismic wave, propelling me forward, until my disobeying hands have clawed Nagisa away from Makoto.

“Rei! You’ll hurt him!” Makoto reaches out for Nagisa, falling forward on all fours.

“Stay away from him! This is your fault! He insisted on sleeping with you because he thinks it’ll stop you from having nightmares. But I’ve seen you at night, sulking away on your own. Stop using him, Makoto!” The words churning inside me come spewing forth like hot ash.

Makoto goes still, his face blanched, staring at me with darkened eyes.

“It’s not like he can help you. No one can help you, can they? You’re like slow-acting venom Makoto. You paralyze and suck people dry and toss them away. But nothing can feed that gaping hole inside you, can it? You can’t save yourself, but you’ll still use whoever you can to pretend that you aren’t unfixable. You used Haru. And now you’re using Nagisa. And I won’t let you do that, Makoto. I won’t stand for it. You can’t fool me with that rotten smile.”

My words hang in the air above the three of us. Lost boys, still drifting around in a shelter-less world, without a single place to call home.

Nagisa disentangles himself from my arms, stepping away slowly, shivering ever so slightly.

Now Makoto will break down and cry all over again. He’ll say he’s sorry and it isn’t his fault. Life wasn’t fair to him, and he just wants to be loved. Because that’s what everyone wants, isn’t it? Love? 

I keep waiting for him to get up off the floor, to throw himself at me. Slap me, shout at me, anything but this silent stillness, as though he’s cowering in the face of some unalterable truth.

I can no longer sit back and watch this hoary old tragedy play itself out in front of me, day in, day out. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of its rusty plot and its clichéd narrative. I’m tired of the tragic hero at its heart, drawing the people around him into the wheeling orbit of his ravenous despair.  

Only I turned out to be one of the actors with a minor side-role, facilitating to highlight the irrepressible pain of the hero’s accursed life.

 

Makoto comes back to life quietly, like a storm passing overhead.

He doesn’t see the spectre at the door, looming behind him like a shadow, doesn’t see the dark-haired man with his teal eyes quietly entering the room.

I should warn him. I should say something, shouldn’t I?

But the play continues, and despite knowing how it’ll end, I am still mesmerized by its predictability.

Sousuke gestures at Nagisa to stay quiet- listening, waiting.

 

“Rei, I’m sorry.” Makoto isn’t crying anymore, but his face is red and splotched. Not beautiful at all. 

I have nothing to say to him. A strange throbbing pain sears through my chest as I keep looking at him.

“I am trying, you know. To put myself back together. To be stronger. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I would die before I let anything happen to Nagisa. You know that, right? And you. I worry about you too, Rei. I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

It hurts to look at him. It aches every muscle in my body to see him trying to smile at me. And failing.

“I know what you think of me. You think I shouldn’t have done the things I did to survive. Because you’ve never had to do them. I hope you don’t ever have to face that choice, Rei. Where you either get to keep your life or your body. But I wanted to live. I kept thinking, if I can just make it through this moment, I’ll see another day. And maybe, that way…Maybe I could find my way back to…And I’m still trying, Rei. Every morning, I put myself together so I can face you and Nagisa and Haru. Please don’t…Don’t think so little of me. I hate myself enough for the both of us. Believe me.”

I have to hold him or he will crumble into dust before my eyes and dissipate into thin air.

I have to keep him together or he’ll break.

Before I can do anything, Sousuke steps forward and slips his arms around Makoto’s waist.

Green eyes widen in surprised recognition, and Makoto almost collapses where he stands. But the strong embrace holding him up saves him from falling.

As he turns around to look at Sousuke, I lead Nagisa out of the parlour.

Just before I close the door on them, I can see Sousuke leaning forward, towards Makoto. The burning rays of a newly risen sun illuminate them as he kisses Makoto’s forehead and pulls him close.

The curtain falls on the lovers, their destiny already sealed.

 

Love is inexplicable and dark and irrational and not beautiful at all.

But the force of it is undeniable.

As Nagisa clings to me silently, still sobbing a little, I cannot help myself. He is small despite his 13 years, so seemingly fragile, that I have to raise his chin so he can meet my gaze. His lips are pale and dry from the morning’s chilly air. They taste like the sweetness of spring- fresh and innocent.

It only lasts a second, but when he breaks from me, he refuses to meet my eye, all his boldness disappearing in the heat emanating from his rosy cheeks.

 

Love destroys, consumes, and leaves men stranded on unknown shores.

And despite knowing the lines of the play by heart, and knowing that every happy ending comes at a cost too high to pay, I find myself adrift among the words of a script written by an invisible hand, years and years and years ago.

And I surrender to its bad metaphors and clichéd declarations of eternal affection.

Even though I know nothing lasts forever.

Even though I promised myself I never would. 


	42. Always Was, Ever Will Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto and Sousuke spend some time together in the city, getting used to each other again.

There was one night, during the reprieve we shared, back when neither one of us was known to other- when I was still a boywhore hired for the young master’s pleasure, and not some tainted boy he knew from his boyhood, who needed saving.

I’ve folded that night up in the wispy folds of my memory and hidden it away inside myself. Sometimes, when nothing I can think of, when no gesture of another human’s love will keep me calm- I take the memory out of its secret compartment and let myself bathe in its paling light.

I had been at his estate a week, I think. Maybe less. The water in the woods lured me to it, as all water does. A sense of morbid curiosity, a promise of life plagued with the liquid brew of death, a return to the irretrievable childhood taken away from me. I found myself undressing by the small stream, immersing myself in its moonlit darkness.

With my head underneath the surface, and my eyes closed tight, and my ears thundering with the sound of running water, I was able to lose myself.

Under the stars, with my body as close to being weightless as it could ever be, in the strange familiarity of the water, I could be anyone I wanted to be.

I could be Makoto or Izumi or Rin or No One. 

I wanted to be like my mother. I wanted to have her courage. I wanted to have her selfish cowardice. I wanted to know how long I could go without breathing, without thinking, without feeling.

But he found me and he pulled me out- a little roughly. I broke through the distorted mirror of the water's surface, gasping a little, trying to keep the air out of my lungs, trying so hard not to breathe.

He held me close, his fingers tracing parallel paths down my back, both of us waist-deep in the coursing stream.

We didn’t kiss, but we might as well have. He never held me that way again. Not even after he confessed his love. Not now, when he says he’s trying to win me back.

That night, he entered me with the water- my legs clasped around him, my fingers in his hair, my face against his shoulder. His hands left pale blue traces on my hips. They always did. He didn’t say a word as he came inside me.

The sound of our laboured breathing, the rippling chime of running water, the wind sighing through the leafy canopy above us, and the soundless song of the silver-winged moon.

We lay side by side on the grass, our bodies gleaming in the moonlight, listening to the silent voices of the night.

If I was to pick a time in my life where I was perfectly suspended in time, free of grief and self-reproach, it would be that night I spent by his side, outside the grim confines of that monstrous castle.

We lingered together until dawn. He held my hand as he led me back inside.

I remember feeling like a wandering sprite caught by a sorcerer, drunk on a rose-brewed potion, thinking myself in love. I followed him with every aching beat of my heart. I thought he’d take me straight to his bed then, and fuck me again and call me his.

Before the door opened, and the cold shadows of the castle embraced his countenance, he let go of my hand. He did not look back.

And I knew then that I should have fought and screamed when he tried to take me back inside. That I should have run back to the water and lay myself in its shallow, flowing depths, and let it take me.

But my limbs always lose their will as soon as he touches me. They refuse to obey me. My body stops belonging to me. 

 

It is now as it was then.

 

It does not matter that he heard everything I said to Rei. That he saw me shaking on the floor, weak and pathetic, repeating the same stale rituals of self-absorbed heartbreak as the day he left me. 

As soon as I am near him, breathing in the familiar warmth of his skin, I become weightless.

He keeps kissing me, his arms firmly wrapped around my waist.

I want us to stay this way always, always.

But the kiss ends, and he takes my face in his hands and his eyes bore into mine.

 

“Get dressed. I’m taking you out.” He looks at me as though I’m a helpless child in his care, ready to obey his every word.

This self-hatred, this persistent feeling of worthlessness, this unending guilt over the way I’ve lived my life- it has exhausted me. It must be tiring to see me smile like this all the time and know that I don’t mean it. To hold me night after night in bed and still wake up to my screams. To have love repaid with cowardly withdrawal and indecision.

“I…I’m fine…You don’t have to take me anywhere. I’ll be fine.” I try to push him away when all I want is for his arms to be around me again.

He grips me by the wrists and kisses me again, soft and chaste, smiling indulgently when he breaks away.

“I’ll wait here while you change your clothes. Or I can come with you and help?” His words leave me blushing like a maiden in her first flush of youth, as if I’ve never been touched by any hands before save his.

“No…I-uh…You really shouldn’t…I should talk to Nagisa and Rei about what happened…I’ve upset them and…” I try to smile at him, to make him feel at ease, but I cannot.

Instead, I feel flustered and witless, wanting to stay with him, wanting to curl up next to him in bed and never leave his side.

He has seen me at my weakest and my worst. He has pushed me away, and seen me crawl back to him time and again. I thought I could have him return the favor. So I left that note for him, full of lies, reeking of my desperate need for him.

But it didn’t work at all, did it?

He’s here because of Nagisa, not for my sake.

He’s holding me now because he pities me.

I feel like I’m being pulled underwater, and away from him. I have to hold on with everything I have, or I’ll be lost. Like my mother before me.

Maybe she jumped because she thought someone would save her. Maybe she left a note for someone too, before she took her life.

 

“Makoto. We’re going out. Now. So go get ready. Or I’ll take you away just like this.” His mouth moves across the skin of my exposed shoulder, reminding me of the disheveled state I am in.

An inadvertent shudder runs through my body. I do not want to go out. I want to go to bed with him. I want us to hide ourselves away. I want to draw that night out of my heart again, out of my memory, and seek refuge in its innocuous passion.

I do not want our names, our pasts, our mothers, our fathers, our burdens, our love to follow us anymore.

I want to stifle the breath out of every single memory I have of him, of myself, except for that one night.

 

“Makoto. Wear something warm and go with him. Just for a while. Nagisa needs some time to reflect on his actions. And I think I should have a talk with Rei.” Haru is standing by the door, his arms folded across his chest, frowning at Sousuke.

Guilt surges through me, making blood turn to sludge in my veins.

“I’ll wait here while you get ready, Makoto.” Sousuke places another kiss on my forehead and moves away from me.

So they both agree on this at least. That I have to be taken care of, protected, watched over. They both think me weak and unreliable. The men I love. The men who love me. Is it my fumbling helplessness that attracts them?

I cannot win against them both.

I dress myself in a pale green woolen pullover Haru has bought for me, and insists that I wear every time I go outside. Trousers of brown tweed, warm and comfortable, and brown boots with laces that I’ve bought for myself.

I drape a cloak of dark green fleece across my shoulders, and last of all, a small leather purse with a few gold coins in my pocket. Money that my words have earned me. A charm I carry with me whenever I got outside, because it makes me feel safe.

Sousuke helps me into the carriage, climbing in after me, sitting next to me, our thighs touching, his gloved hand reaching for mine and clasping it tight.

He keeps smiling, glancing sideways at me. It makes me nervous now, being alone with him like this. I try to calm myself, but my breath comes out a little ragged, and my chest heaves visibly.

He notices the upheaval blossoming underneath my skin and lets go of my hand, placing his arm around my waist instead, drawing me in.

He leans his head against mine, and breathes contentedly in my ear. No words, no promises, no apologies. Just his presence next to me. It shouldn’t be enough after all that has happened between us, but it is. 

The carriage stops in front of a large brick building, its walls the color of rust, with an archaic roof made out of darkened wood, ridged and sloping downward. A rickety sign hangs outside, suspended on an iron bar, the writing on it faded into illegibility with the years. If I look hard enough, I can just barely make out the words. _The Lucky Kitsune_. A small stone fox, ornamented in red and gold, waits outside the entrance- one weathered paw raised in welcome.

Sousuke  extends his hand to me. He doesn’t let go as we go inside, following a waiter to a sturdy wooden table by the window, looking out on the cobbled street and its varied traffic of horses, carriages, and people.

He orders for us both. Some kind of tea, a plate of scones, rolled eggs, fried mackerel, and fresh-baked bread.

“I used to come here with Rin all the time. When we were studying at the University.” He reaches for my hand across the table, entangling his legs with mine underneath it.

What am I supposed to say to him? I do not want to hear about Rin. I know nothing about his life. I knew close to nothing of him then, when my mother was still alive, and I know even less now.

I let my gaze drift outside, ignoring the way his eyes follow my every single movement. I will drown in the teal of his irises if he keeps looking at me that way.

He pours the tea after it arrives, urging me to watch the small pink flowers blossom in its pale amber depths, floating to the surface of the delicate glass cups. The desiccated petals open up, full of renewed life, rising instead of sinking.

He watches me closely as I lift the cup to my lips, tasting the sweetness, the warmth.  

“Do you like it?”

“Mmmm. It’s nice. Not something I would expect you to like though.”

He laughs, closing his eyes. I haven’t seen him look this way before. My heart clenches with a sudden craving for his lips.

“It used to remind me of the flowers I'd find in my room. Whenever I felt lonely in the city, homesick for a place I didn’t really belong to, I’d come here and order this tea. It reminded me of you, though I didn’t know it back then.”

I do not have any words for him. I rummage through all the masks I keep with me, trying to find the right one for this occasion, so I can hide myself behind it and face him.

Instead, I lower my eyes and sip at the tea, trying to imagine a life where he and I can be happy. And the possibility of it overflows inside my chest and I think I’ll cry.

He is satisfied with my silence, I think. He beams at me as the food is served, plying me with bits of buttered scones, slicing bread for me and urging me to try the mackerel after dousing it in lemon juice and salt.

All the while, he talks about inconsequential things. Stories from when he was younger, about the nights he spent drinking with his friends in the disreputable alehouses by the harbor, about sneaking into the library of his university late at night to look at books forbidden to students and getting caught.

Gently, carefully, pretending as if it isn’t anything important, he familiarizes me with his life, inviting me in.

When the waiter brings us the bill, I quickly reach for it, praying for the numbers on it to match the weight of coins resting in my purse.

It’s all I have left over after buying myself the boots and some trinkets for Nagisa, Rei, and Haru- but I can pay for us both.

He narrows his eyes, thinking carefully as I fumble with the money, adding a few copper coins for the waiter apart from the cost of food.

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t try to stop me.

When we’re back inside the carriage, he pulls me in again and kisses me, letting his tongue slide between my lips.

As he draws away, he whispers _thank you_ , and I find myself blushing and smiling like a fool. I lean my head against his shoulder, being careful not to hurt him.

 

There is so much more I need him to tell me. So much I need to say to him. How did he hurt himself? Why is he still in the city, in that small house, instead of back in his castle? Why did he push me away? Why does he want me back?

But there is no need to hurry. There will be time for the questions and the answers, for holding him and being held in his arms, for sharing his bed and waking up next to him.

I know that now.

Before taking me back, he has us stop outside a small bookshop close to Haru’s house. Once again, he shamelessly takes my hand, drawing pointed stares from people on the sidewalk.

Around 20 copies of my book are placed on a small table by the entrance. A couple of young girls, dressed in brightly colored outfits all rose-pink and daffodil-yellow, are fussing over the green covers.

“I heard he’s an exile from the Eastern provinces, a noble’s son. He lost his young bride to some kind of fatal illness and it broke his heart. So he gave up his home and his position, and came here. And he writes his poems to her, hoping his words can reach her somehow.”

“Ugh, no that’s so clichéd. I don’t think that’s what happened at all. I heard from my brother’s friend, who studies Classical Poetry at the University mind you, that Tachibana is just a pseudonym. His real name is a secret, and he is actually a sailor from the Desert Lands and he fell in love with a courtesan in Pareesa but she belonged to some lord and refused to elope with him though they loved each other. And it broke his heart and now he writes his verses in blood and leaves them scattered all over the city every time his ships drops anchor here.”

“That sounds like nonsense, Miku. How would anyone find scattered poems and publish them? Written blood. How terribly ghoulish.”

As soon as they notice our presence, the girls smile and flutter away like a pair of butterflies, holding hands and whispering together, clearly ecstatic over the idea of bloody verses.

Sousuke picks one of the volumes up, and traces the characters of my name inscribed on it. He pays for the book, despite my muttered offers to give him one of the copies I have at home, courtesy of my publisher Nao.

“No, no. I want one of my own. I keep hogging Takano’s, and it’s making him angry.”

“You…You read it?”

“Yes. I did. It’s…You words are…They’re beautiful, Makoto.”

I do not understand why, but his sparse praise means more to me than any scholarly edification of my writing.

“Will you sign it for me, Makoto?”

“What would I write?”

“Just that it’s for me. This book.”

As I take a borrowed pen from the slightly baffled shop-owner, and scrawl _For Sousuke_ across the front page, I feel my skin heating up from within.

Sousuke places the book in the pocket of his coat, patting it reassuringly, offers me his arm, and leads me back to the carriage.

On the way back, we while away the minutes sharing kiss after kiss.

As he walks me to the door, he caresses my face and smiles once more.

“Can I see you again, Makoto? Nagisa brought me an invite to the party. But I won’t come if you don’t want…”

“I do. I…Yes. Please, I want you to…It would be…nice.”

 

If I want, I can lead him around in circles for a year, and still be sure that he wouldn’t give up on me.

But I want him more than he will ever know. I need him so much more than he will ever need me.

He is the ocean I would willingly drown in- dark and lightless, unfathomably deep.

As my eyes close against the weight of the water, as my lungs fill up and my vision clouds over, a lightness drifts up from within me and rises to surface, reaching for the light.

Life within death, death disguised as life.

That is my love for him.

That is how it has always been.

That is how it will ever be.


	43. Buried Bones of an Old, Worn Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke attends the party at Haru's house, and reignites his passion with Makoto.

It should feel like victory, seeing him again like this, but it tastes of surrender. Of compromise. Of defeat.

He flutters around the room, smiling prettily, accepting compliments and congratulatory remarks from men and women, with such an easy grace you’d think he was born to be a socialite.

I should have waited outside until all these fawning guests had left.

Nanase’s spacious house is crowded with all sorts of people. University students in carefully polished boots and cheap tweed jackets. Those with nobility and affluence, clad in furs and silks, with too much time to spare, and pretensions to having an interest in the high arts. Shaggy-haired and pointy-chinned intellectuals, smirking in darker corners, whispering secrets likely as dull as their plaid, and as stale as the tobacco in their worn out pipes.

Numerous candles- thick and squat, of bonewhite wax- glitter like hosts of fireflies, their flickering flames reflecting off round glass vases filled with floating origami flowers. The paper lotuses look worn and their gilt patterns have faded into dull, beaten bronze.

The room is cluttered with the plunder of rich perfumes, smoke, and the thick scent of red wine spilling into delicate glasses shaped like morning glories. The hazy heat makes sweat gather on my brow as I sip whiskey leaning next to an open window, warding off the queries of an exquisite socialite, dressed in deep purple, the candlelight reflected perfectly in the teak of her smooth skin.

Surprisingly, though she knows me as the newly disgraced and disinherited Yamazaki son, her questions are about Makoto. _How I know him? What I think of his writing? Don’t I think he looks exquisite in the loose silk shirt of pale jade and tight black trousers? As pretty as a maiden with his burning cheeks and his tousled locks. And those eyes. Oh those perfect gems glittering like emeralds in the flawless frame of his face. How rare that the beauty of a poet’s words, the purity of his soul, are reflected so perfectly in his being, his angelic appearance._

Strangers’ eyes mark his face, their hands trace unfamiliar patterns on his arms, the silk fabric rippling across his skin like waves billowing under a full moon.

Unthinkingly, my fingers stifle a small green lotus, crumpling its wet folds into an unrecognizable mess. He is too free with his smiles. He is letting too many people monopolize him, touch him, hear his sweet laughter.

My gaze follows him across the room as his publisher takes hold of him by the elbow and spins him around to greet a pair of dandyish young men, one of whom devours the curve of Makoto’s exposed neck with wolfish eyes.

I should mark the creamy skin between his collarbones with my teeth to let the world know who his lover is.

Wrapped up though he is in the words of others, his eyes flicker over to me- lucent, fragile mothwings turning inevitably to the burning flame. His lips part slightly as our eyes meet- a silent recital of the transgressive need we have for each other, pouring out of his shining irises like the unspoken verses of a barely-begun poem.

A warped language meant for the two of us alone.

If I keep watching him, if I keep looking as his publisher’s hand slips away from his elbow to his waist…the glass will crumble to shards in my hand, cruel words will leap off my tongue and I will lose him again.

“So, how do you know Makoto again?” The woman standing next to me is nothing if not persistent.

But she is not alone in her quest to put the pieces of Makoto’s shadowed past together. What is the worth of a mystery if you do not attempt to solve it?

And the whispers I hear- slithering mouth to ear behind sliding doors and overwrought vases- reek too much of the truth.

 

_Some lord’s concubine, I heard. Kept in pearls and silks, but treated so cruelly._

_Born to a disgraced noblewoman and her lover._

_Abandoned at birth._

_Sold to a brothel._

_Whore._

And why should it anger me so if it is the truth? Why should it make my hands wants to close the heinous throats which sound it out- when I have made my peace with it, when I have used him like one, when I have called him by this despicable word?

Poisoned whispers float around the room, softly at first, then gushing forth like the tide coming in under a full moon.

And then I see the outlandish hair of the slender boy I paid for once- or was it twice- his hand in Makoto’s, his eyes dazed, cheeks burning with the shame of uncouth realization- caught like a swindling fox in a hunter’s trap.

They slept together, he said. He fucked Makoto, more than once. For all those years, when they were together, sharing their bodies. As good as lovers.

I do not own Makoto. I never should have. But this…This is unbearable.

Haruka’s foresight outruns my jealous rage-and that is probably for the best.

Makoto is carefully, decidedly steered away by the glaring blue eyes, flustered into distraction. Perhaps a little too easily.

The boy he left behind looks paler than ever, clutching at the emptiness where Makoto stood, fingers still curled, holding onto nothing, eyes blankly following Makoto’s back.

It is a pitiful sight.

But I am not a pitying man.

I find myself breathing a sigh of relief as I watch him cower in a corner, away from the whispering, glittering throng.

I wonder if one of his clients is here.

I wonder if one of Makoto’s clients is here.

I do not want these thoughts. But they will not let go of my mind.

 

“Now what was that about, I wonder? An ex-lover, do you think?” The woman in purple smirks sideways at me, adjusting her mink carefully across long, bare arms.

There is a way to stop these speculations. There is a way to put an end to all of this, before he is drawn back into hell again. After he has spent years bloodying his hands and feet and knees to crawl out of it sulfurous chasm.

 

“That boy is nothing but an acquaintance. A bothersome one, really”. My words echo a little louder than I intended, catching the attention of more than one person.

The lie is necessary. It is not really far from the truth anyway. Fucking someone is not like loving them, is it?

_Makoto has never loved anyone but me…_

“Oh? Have you been hiding secrets in your silence?” The woman in purple leans closer, eager, hungry- almost viciously begging for more.

“A little secrecy is good for a budding poet, is it not, my lady?”

“Curioser and curioser…”

There is no better way to put an end to these ugly rumors. Her plum-colored lips will spill this secret from living room to parlor to boudoir. And a new story will take shape, and the old one will be nothing but the fading tune of a misheard song.

“He is my lover. Has been since he was sixteen. My father was…Not happy about my preferences. But you already know that part of the story”.

The lie leaves my throat raw, like a grating growl.

I give her a sly, thin-lipped smile before walking away. Her mouth utters a sudden gasp of realization, connecting the scattered scraps of a new story into one coherent whole.

Twining my past with his, making his misfortune my own, making him mine when he never was- a lie worth its weight in gold.

I find him caught up in a half-hearted conversation with a middle-aged lecher with shrivelled, wandering hands.

I take him by the waist- pairs and pairs of watching eyes focused on us both- and lead him outside the door. Into the night. Where I can color my lie with some truth.

“Wh-What are you…People were watching! Sousuke stop this…”

In a thin, dark alley hiding in the shadow of the tall stone house, I push him up against a cold wall, and seal his protests with my mouth.

He gives in to my kiss, as he always does. I know this is what he wants the most from me. I know he likes the way I suck on the tip of his tongue just a little. I know his cock grows hard when I make him choke on my saliva, stifling his breath with my lips.

I miss the warmth of his skin so much.

My hands find their way under the silken folds of his shirt, tracing his hipbones, his spine, his ribcage. He is still so thin, so fragile. As though he is not complete yet. As though he is still being made.

He moans my name in a voice that tiptoes in the night like a sleek black cat. Like distant notes of birdsong carried on the cascading wind, drifting all the way down from the half-drawn moon in the inky sky of this strangely impossible night.

I know how to touch the precise place in the small of his back to turn him from a passionate poet back into my besotted concubine- devoted to the whims of my pleasure alone.

I know how to press myself against him, to ease my knee between his thighs, to tease and torment, to make him say every word my heart wishes to hear in his elusive voice.

And he complies. He obeys. He surrenders.  

 

I pay him in lingering kisses, eager teeth, and lewd hands.

And he services me with the words, the moans, the throaty cries I yearn for.

 

I want to take him home with me. But we end up in a shabby inn by the harbor, frequented by sailors and merchants, crooks and whores.

The bed reeks of brine and the lust of other men and women.

He sits on the filthy floor, between my legs, naked from the waist down, struggling with my belt. The buttons of his costly shirt are scattered across the floor, but I have ordered him to keep it on.

I want to see it sticking to his sweaty skin, marking the hard outline of his stiff nipples, soaked in my cum.

I have to undo my belt for him, and he takes the tip of my cock in his mouth with the eagerness of a practiced bedwarmer.

He kisses the tip, and I remember our first night.

 

I remember lusting after him, losing my reason and my composure.

I remember falling in love with him, and hating us both for it.

 

The pointed tip of his tongue gently slides across my wet slit, and I grunt like a boar in the woods, overcome with some ancient, bestial hunger.

Though my hand pushes his head down on my cock, urging him to take it deep into his throat, he defies me.

His tongue dances around the head of my manhood, slurping up the juices, before his lips seal themselves around it, sucking so enthusiastically that I feel myself melting- all of me, every inch of my being- right into his pretty mouth.

His lips release my cock with such a lewd sound that I almost cum in his face from hearing it.

“Where would you like to cum, my lord?”

 

_Are we replaying our story, or rewriting it?_

_Its words same as before, just strewn out of order._

 

“Your pretty face.”

His well-trained fingers wrap around me, his palm encloses around the length of my dripping hardness, his tongue slips out every few seconds to lick the slickness.

As my breath turns heavy, and my voice echoes deep against the rain-stained ceiling of the rundown building, he opens his mouth and lets his tongue out.

My thick cum drips down his lips, onto his half-bared chest, leaving traces on his cheeks, and stains on the green silk.

Chest heaving, eyes glazed over, he leans forward, placing another furtive kiss on my spent cock, making it stir again. He takes my whole cock inside this time, taking both my hands blindly and forcing me to grip his hair and push his head down on my manhood, making me fuck his mouth.

I release myself inside him, and he almost chokes on my seed.

He falls back, onto the dirty floor, his own cock hard and twitching.

“Make yourself cum, Makoto. For me.” I want him to make a mess out himself for me. I want him to lose his mind with the weight of my burning love.

I want to relive that first night.

 

Lying on his back, his knees bent, he parts his leg as far as he can, and exposes himself to my consuming eyes. He runs his hands across the length of his body, slowly, caressingly, calling out for me like a vixen in heat, making his fingers wet with the thickly translucent markings I have left all over him.

His hips bucks uncontrollably as he fingers himself, tugging at his cock, half lifting his entire body off the ground.

Watching him in this state should make me hard again, should it not?

He cums all over himself, shuddering, biting back his voice.

And he goes still all over, eyes closed tight.

He looks so hopelessly delicate, shallow breaths wracking his slim frame.

The moonlight seeping in through the thick, muggy glass of the single window of this dank, hellish room illuminates him.

For a brief moment, I can see the cracks and seams marking his skin.

Traceries and outlines of stories I have never heard.

All those times he’s been broken and put back together again.

Each time a little less whole than before.

I gather him in my arms as carefully as I can, and hold him close to me, curled up in my lap.

I kiss him once, tasting the blood from his tattered lips, the sweat sweltering down his temples, and myself.

When he falls asleep, I place him on the bed and clean him up as best I can.

His bones shine through the blue-veined delicacy of his skin. I am afraid of having him fall apart in my hands once more.

I wanted to take him home with me, but he wanted to come to this lurid place instead.

I wonder if this is the setting of some old tale he was trying to overwrite, his memory trying to replace the monstrous mask of a stranger with my familiar face.

I wonder if it worked.

Despite my protesting shoulder, I carry him back to the stagecoach in my arms, wrapped up carefully in my coat. He sleeps deeply, undisturbed, as though cursed by some half-mad witch, eager to supplant his sordid reality with the fanciful lies of dreaming.

As he opens the door, Takano’s look of alarm is replaced by some silent expression of affection at the sight of him. He takes Makoto from my arms without asking any questions, and puts him to bed while I bathe.

I return to a darkened room, with Makoto sleeping soundly in my bed, naked underneath the sheets.

When I take my place next to him, I feel his body drawn into mine, his back curving against me, my arm around his waist, my hand measuring his heartbeat, my breath hot on the back of his neck.

He has never slept easily before this night. Not that I know of.

Even when his nightmares did not wake him, I could still feel him twisting against me as he slept. I would have to hold both his hands fast in mine to stop the trembling.

But his breathing is even tonight, and his body is restful.

I kiss the sharpness of his shoulder bones, which make his back look as though it’s had a pair of angel’s wings ripped off long ago, in some distant lifetime.

Before he ever met me.

Before we fell so vehemently, so destructively in love with each other.

 

Some stories are so old not even their bones remain.

All we have left of them are strange markings on their razed gravestones, lingering in the memories of those who have heard them in their blood, passed down from mother to child.

Some stories are so new you cannot tell how they will end until you have already lived them, and it is already too late.

But no story can ever be rewritten to mean something it never was.

All you can do is cheat the reader with some switched sentences and fresher words. Maybe you throw in a verse or two for effect. Maybe you break a mended heart or mend a broken one. Maybe you add a new face to add weight to the telling.

But you cannot tell it how to end, for that was decided long ago, spoken in words you can never hear with mortal ears.

 

Maybe our story is as old as the world in its becoming. Maybe it is as new as the first leaves of this year’s blossoming spring.

But I know its bones. Heavy and white and unchangeable.

And we cannot rewrite it, cannot change how it ends, however many lives we live.


	44. The Lie of Remembering, the Ache of Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru contemplates his complicated past, and reveals the truth about his parents, during the night of the party.  
> [For clarification's sake, this covers the same night from Haru's POV that Ch. 39 covered from Kisumi's POV, and Ch. 43 covered from Sousuke's POV].

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some blood imagery at the end of the chapter. If that sort of thing sets you off, proceed with caution.  
> And angst. Which should be understood by now.  
> Some revelations about Haru's past which revisit his backstory in a new light. He is learning to be more honest with himself after falling for Makoto.

He said nothing before disappearing into the night with his lover.

Not a word. Not a single reassurance.

Nothing unusual about it, nothing wrong.

He owes me nothing.

 

But it still aches, somewhere deep inside.

A pill to cure this discomfort, an antidote for the poison rotting me from within- I’d pay my own weight in gold for a remedy.

 

My home does not feel like mine.

Wine spilled on the carpet, candles melting into pools of wax on the tables.

And the people.

The people and their noise and their heat and their overwhelming presence.

A monstrous being with a hundred faces, threatening to gulp me up.

As long as I kept my gaze fixed on Makoto, as long as his eyes shone brightly in the room, I felt tethered. I felt…bound, in some way. To the illogical customs of this life, these people.

But now a noxious fog surrounds me. In his absence, my vision is clouded. I can barely breathe.

A stranger in my own home, I must leave this place. I must go now.

 

As I stumble outside, gasping for air, no one notices.

How long has it been since he left with Yamazaki?

Will he come back to me again? Feverish and sick with sorrow? Seeking my comfort, my arms, my warmth?

_My kiss…_

 

Am I a devil for wanting it? Something even worse, perhaps?

And what can I give him?

I know, I’ve always known. That I cannot be who he wants me to be. That I cannot give him what he needs.

Yet I know he loves me.

Maybe even more than that self-pitying, overbearing brute of a lover he keeps going back to.

I’ve held him, and he’s kissed me, and we’ve slept in the same bed countless times.

And it is enough for me. It is all I have ever wanted.

But I cannot say the same for him.

And I cannot blame him for any of this.

I have no one to blame but myself.

 

A few stragglers from the nearby cafes walk past me, giving me curious looks.

People have always baffled me. I cannot understand how to behave with civility all the time. I have either been ignored or looked at with amazement by others. As though I am removed from the immediacy of the human experience. A lost creature wandering the streets of the city. Nothing to identify me by.

 

There are memories I have of a time when I was Haruka. When I was a whole being. So long ago, and harder to remember with every year that passes.

If it was not for the fading portrait of them hanging in my study, I would have forgotten what my mother and father looked like years ago.

They never remained in one place for long. They never stayed beside me for more than a few months at a time.

My mother had foreign blood in her veins, A nomad witch, my grandmother called her, and cursed her name.

 

Such a lovely name my mother had. Even cursing it could not steal its syllables of the music inhering in their sound. Like an east wind swiftly rushing in from across the sea, the scent of saffron and wispy magenta petals, delicate with citrine veins, dancing in a swirling trance. Her laughing voice calling out to me. Low music heard deep in a desert on moonless nights.

Even if I try, even if I shut my ears to the frantic sounds of the rushing world around me, even if I hold my head under water, I can no longer hear her.

She was nothing more to me than a whisper of a wordless lullaby I heard in a dream.

A wild spirit, they called her. My father was enraptured by her. My grandmother thought differently. She used other words to explain the hold my mother had over her son.

_Bewitched. Enthralled. Cursed._

 

I remember being with her as we watched the ships leave the harbor. She would whisper stories to me about the lands they sailed off too. The golden sand, rolling like an ocean under the punishing heat of the desert sun. Lakes of amethyst cradled between tall snow-capped mountains. Castles of red stone, and darkening temples where the old gods still held sway. 

She taught me to swim, braving the rushing waves together with me, as my father watched nervously from the shore. 

Even now, I think I can almost hear her when I'm near water. Makoto would have to pull me out of the tub on certain nights. Laughing and helping me dry my hair. Knowing the ache somehow within without asking any questions. 

 

I know she loved me, my wayward mother. She did the best she could.

But the earth would slide under her feet, and she would be whisked away from the fixed spot I inhabited. The distance between us utterly unbridgeable.

Home meant something else to her. Something roving and wild and free.

And my father followed her where she went, wrapped up in her whirling presence.

 

I do not remember if I heard the truth from someone else, or just understood it by myself as I grew older.

It wasn’t that I was unwanted. Or unloved.

I simply wasn’t needed. The way I was, I would only be a burden. Or maybe that’s not the right way to explain my place in her life. Makoto would laugh if he heard me thinking these thoughts out loud. He’d say it was self-pity, and ruffle my hair, and tell me I was better than this.

But I’m not.

I’m miserable and petty and jealous.

I wanted her to be bound to me. Just like I want Makoto to never leave me.

 

I hated my father for being able to run off with her.

I hate Yamazaki for being able to take Makoto to bed with him so easily.

Time and time and time again. 

 

Because I could never hate my mother. And I cannot hate Makoto.

 

I know I won’t be able to bear it if his heart breaks again. Mine will break with his, just the same, its pieces falling apart in the same random pattern.

But he is not mine to enrapture or bewitch. And I could never curse him. Though somewhere in the abyss of my memory, the blighting words glisten like onyx ink on old parchment. Waiting to be conjured up in my mother’s forgotten tongue.

 

As the night deepens, I find myself walking the streets in a daze. Waves crash in the distance, and the low horns of ships coming in sound out, invading the city’s chattering peace.

I walk in cobbled circles trying to picture things I have lost, trying not to think of things I will lose.

 

When I return to my house, the windows have darkened, the candles spluttered out, all light gone from it, a couple of half-drunk college students spilling out of the open door like the last of the wine.

Inside the empty living room, which now resembles an abandoned salon after a heated brawl, I can hear muffled voices from a dark corner.

Katsuhiro and Nao. The editor and the publisher. Celebrating the fruition of their efforts. 

All wrapped up in each other, their bodies moving like unfurling waves of heat and ecstasy.

Noticing my presence, they come back to their senses, and hastily leave, adjusting trousers and buttoning buttons.

Katsuhiro has a fiancée. He is to marry her in the fall. And yet…

 

This strange need for another’s body. I want no part of this heedless desire. It turns men into beasts. Rips them all up.

I have never wanted anything like this.

But I learned too late that a heart can break though the body remains intact, untouched.

 

I know I should take a bath and sleep.

I know he will not come back tonight.

 

Still my feet drag me outside, and I collapse on the stone steps leading up to the door.

I feel feverish and nauseous. All I’ve had is wine. Too strong for me. I’m not used to it at all.

Perhaps that is why such foreign thoughts have crowded my mind this night.

 

When he falls at my feet, panting, his clothes covered in blood, I feel my heart stop.

Years pass as I wait for him to say the words I dread to hear.

In my head is an image of a lifeless body, the light of its bright green orbs, its golden soul,  dimmed forever. I want to claw it out of my eyes.

 

_If Makoto…_

_Then I will follow. Without hesitation. Without thought._

 

“I need…Help. Help me, please.” He looks like an absurd apparition, sent here to torment my weakened mind.

I can only stare at him, holding back the vomit in my throat, my fists clenched.

“Ma-Makoto…” It’s the only word I can say without losing myself right now.

“Oh. No, no. It’s not him. It’s…A boy. He’s been hurt. He might…I think he might bleed to death. It won't stop though I tried my best. It just won't stop. Look, I’ll pay you everything I have. Makoto said you’re a doctor? Please come with me. Please…” He clutches at my feet, trying to keep himself together.

I should stand up, and get my case. But my vision is starting to cloud. I stumble forward and he gets up just in time to save me from falling.

“Haru? Haru are you okay? Who…is that? Why are you still here?” Rei’s voice sounds so distant. My head echoes with the crashing waves, the distant sound of ships leaving the city. Where my home is. Where I am bound to live until I die.

 

When I come to, I’m in the parlour, propped up on the fainting couch, Nitori fussing over me with a towel, wiping away the sweat from my forehead.

Rei is talking quietly with the boy…what was his name…something vulgar…

But he means the world to Makoto. And his clothes are covered in drying blood.

 

“Coffee. Ai, please. Bring me a cup of coffee and my case.” I have to help. Somehow, someone…

I have to be useful.

“Haru, you’re in no condition to…” Rei tries to stop me from rising, but I have no patience to be spoiled like a child at this age.

“I’m fine. Get the carriage. And go back to bed. You’ll worry Nagisa.”

“But Haru…You can’t handle this on your own. I can help. You know I can. I’ve been reading your books. And watching you. Let me come with you. Please?”

“It might not be the best idea for him to see…” Kisumi looks a little startled at Rei’s earnest bravado.

And I know he is right. 

 

You can hide the truth of the world from a child, but he still has eyes to see with, and ears to listen.

And I cannot risk an innocent life because of my pride.

I know I might stumble at any time, with the wine still dulling my senses.

I need Rei’s help. 

I cannot do this alone.

 

Kisumi leads us inside. Makoto has talked about this place so many times, I would know it with my eyes closed. The heavy scent of decaying roses, the dim lighting. The pervasive smell of sex and sweat. It does nothing to alleviate the dull throbbing pain inside my head.

Rei averts his eyes as he walks past a naked boy, around his age, sprawled on a velvet couch, a man’s head bobbing up and down between his legs.

I think of Makoto, 16 years old- with a heart as bright as molten gold- and the threat of nausea chokes me.

 

The boy is young. Too young.

Blood has pooled underneath him on the clean sheets. His eyes dazed with the laudanum and pain.

The brown eyes shine, but all I can see is green. Rooted to the floor, I feel as helpless as he looks.

 

A clattering sound returns me to reality. Rei has dropped the case, and is staring at the boy in the bed.

It might already be too late.

But I have to try.

I have to save him.

“Kisumi, get me a basin full of hot, boiled water. And clean sheets. Rei, I need you to help me clean his wound before I can see the extent of the damage.”

Within a few minutes, Kisumi returns with the things I have asked for, and Rei helps me lift up the whimpering boy’s legs.

Kisumi sits by the bed, whispering softly in the boy’s ear.

His name is Nasser.

And I have to save him.

 

My hands steady themselves as I hear his dull cries of pain. My head clears up, thinking only of the task before me.

Fortunately, the wound is shallow, and not in a place I cannot reach. I stitch it up carefully, and the bleeding ebbs. Then stops. Clean white bandages show no sign of red. I breathe deeply in relief. 

After giving Kisumi some medication to prevent infection, and written instructions on taking care of the wound, I grasp Rei’s elbow and lead him outside.

The Madam of the house thanks me repeatedly, and tries to pay me for my services.

I decline as politely as I can, and ask her to send for me if Nasser’s condition worsens.

I breathe in the clean air as we walk outside.

 

Rei sobs openly during the drive back home.

There is no comfort I can offer him.

This is the truth of Makoto’s world. This is the past I cannot save him from. Nor can Yamazaki.

If Makoto has made it this far, alive and able to love, it is because of himself alone.

The man who did this to Nasser- Kisumi told me he is the same man who ravaged Makoto. The man Yamazaki tried to kill. And failed.

Rei heard every word, shaking uncontrollably. I have done him a severe injustice. I was supposed to protect him from witnessing this rotting underbelly of humanity. To preserve his innocence. 

Makoto will be angry at me for letting Rei come here.

 

But it is better to know than not know.

It is better to know that your mother went back to her roaming home, somewhere across the ocean, where snow never falls, and the summers are long. To know that your father went with her, and was never heard from again.

That they still love you, but their lives and yours cannot intertwine.

 _Because_ _they love you._

Because they could not give you the life you deserve. And it would be better if you were to think they were no longer of this world.

It is better to know this, to read it in a letter your sorrowing grandmother was too tired to hide away, than mourn the lie of two empty coffins buried in well-kept graves in the Nanase family's underground vault.

Because my grandfather would sooner call his son dead than proclaim him ensnared by some foreign whore into abandoning his home, his family, his only son. 

Because with every ship that drops anchor, and every distant boom of horns announcing its return, there is a chance that my mother will slip back into the house of stone that confines me.

Because I have to wait. Just in case.

Because the morning might return them to me.

My mother and Makoto.

Because what else do I have to live for…


	45. In the Glowing Calm of Your Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto wakes up alone in Sousuke's room, and thinks about their tryst from the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, but a necessary one. There are some mentions of Makoto's past, which hint at the abuse he suffered in the past.  
> So trigger warning for indirect references to sexual abuse and rape.

It’s the mewing ball of fur pressed up against my chest, squirming around, tucked up with me beneath the covers, that finally wakes me up.

The room is flooded with dull yellow light- it must be afternoon now.

My head feels light and my eyes well-rested, but my body is covered with a thin sheen of sweat. A slight fever burns in my veins, and my cheeks burn, flushed with its slow onslaught.

As I try to lift myself up, the lightness in my head bubbles over, and I fall back onto the warm pillow. The cat mews its annoyance with me, moving around a little before settling back into place.

Something is out of place. 

Haru doesn’t have a cat.

Has a stray wandered in during the night?

As my vision adjusts itself to the invasive sunlight, and the veil of sleep falls from my eyes, I realize where I am.  

 

Slowly, like a trickle of venom from a dead snake’s mouth into the recesses of my mind, I recall the night before. The strange play I re-enacted with him in such a filthy, loathsome place.

What possessed me to do such a thing? What demon from my past took hold of my ruptured soul, and dragged me back to that night of hell?

Was it that I had hoped to rewrite it? 

I cannot help but laugh at myself for thinking of such a pure emotion as hope.

The past is immovable in all its stone-hearted cruelty.

I cannot fool my own memory and write it over. I cannot shut it up somewhere it will never see the light of day again, cannot free myself of its tentacular grip.

I wasn’t able to save myself from the darkness of that room. I only added another chapter set in the same location.

 

I will never be free.

 

It was before the brothel. I was 14, I think. Maybe 15. Starving, and praying for death. I don’t recall how many they were, or what was done to me. But I remember the weight of coins on my tarnished skin when I came to, and I remember waking up alone, and I remember the kindness of the woman who owned the inn, and I remember the warm bowl of fish stew she gave me and I remember vomiting it all out because I ate too much, too hastily.

I wanted to scrape that place out of my being. So why did I go back there? Why did I take _him_ with me? Why can’t I find the words to tell him about the things that happened to me?

Was I hoping to give him bits and pieces of my life through the merging of our bodies, without the need for words?

 

Words are such weapons, such murderous implements, with such potent poisons swimming about behind the deceptive simplicity of their utterance.

It’s true after all. Nothing can fill the gaping void within me. All I can do is try and drag others into the whirlpool of miserable self-pity that replaced my beating heart years ago.

 

Sitting up in bed with my knees drawn up against my chest, staring blankly outside the window, I forget my place once more. Thoughtless tears surge from eyes, and I feel stupidly helpless. The cat shifts around, and its warm weight settles down at my feet, purring comfortingly.

Running my fingers through the soft black fur is peaceful somehow.

“Kou, are you mad at me for leaving you behind?”

The cat lifts herself up and gazes at me carefully through yellow irises before curling up at my feet again.

There is jug of water and a pair of glasses on the bedside table. And a small plate of fruits. I force myself to drink some water, and taste some foreign-looking berries. They're tartly sweet, and I would rather have fresh strawberries, but they help ease the rumbling in my stomach. 

Somehow the innocuousness of my situation is too overwhelming. After forcing down a few more berries, I fall back into bed, my breath running short and sharp, like daggers piercing the insides of my lungs.

 

_He has brought me here and left me on my own. Why has he left me? Why was he not next to me when I woke up? What is more important to him than being here with me…_

Tears begin falling freely, of their own accord, and I cannot stop them.

 

I don’t remember falling asleep again.

 

The dream is in shadow- grey and ephemeral.

Neither light nor dark.

Her voice reeks of desperation. And of guilt.

“Makoto, take this money. Hide it. Keep it safe. Don’t let anyone…You’ll be strong for me, right? You’re all grown up now. You’ll be fine. You can look after yourself now.”

I want to stop her and tell her I can’t. That I am weak and still a child and know nothing of the world.

I want to scream at her and tell her I cannot look after myself, beg her not to leave me behind, to wrap her thin fingers around my throat and take my life before she takes her own.

I want to tell her I'm afraid and I don’t want to be alone…

But the dream robs me of my voice and chases after me, leading me into darkness, digging deep into my memory, forcing my past back upon me.

It will not let me forget.

I will never be free.

 

I wake up shaking, covered in cold sweat, a scream choking my breath back. I try to free myself from the claustrophobic confine of warm sheets- gasping, desperate, wanting to escape.

“Makoto, what is it?” He is by my side this time. His hand is on my back, stroking gently, calmly.

Inexplicably, I feel my body relax under his touch. My breath evens out in an instant, matching its rhythm to the slow movement of strong fingers caressing my skin.

“Bad dream? Will it make you feel better if you tell me about it?” He sits up now, softly but firmly taking me in his arms. I lean against him, my head against his chest, listening to the soothing, steady flow of blood rushing through his heart.

My mother’s bent back, retreating into the night, leaving me behind. A lightless alley. The strange painless ache of blood that fled my body in the dream- it is all still vivid, still spinning before my eyes.

It would have taken Haru half the night, quietly holding me, to bring me back to myself.

Yet now, with him, it has taken no more than a moment.

 

"Sousuke...Sousuke..."

"I'm right here Makoto."

 

When I call out his name fearfully, carefully, his grips tightens around me. 

In his arms, in this shared embrace, I feel safe.

It is no longer pity, or sorrow, or lust, or the painfully congruent want of us both to return to a long-lost past that is binding me to him.

It feels as if I am being held by a lover.

This closeness feels like love. Love as it is supposed to be.

Not what my mother’s love should have been.

Not the love Haru has given me unquestioningly, letting me become myself for the first time in my life.

Not the love of the poets, all fiery passion, consuming its victims.

This love feels like the fullness of my heart when every desire has been done away with. Like an escape from the riverine flow of time, no longer urging haste towards fulfillment before the moment is gone.

Maybe it should feel a little bit like betrayal, or dependence, even weakness. But that is not true at all.

A warmth as natural and unquestioning as sunshine.

 

“You can tell me, Makoto. It’ll help.”

As he says the words, I know them to be true.

“It- It was the same as always. The same nightmare I always have. M-My mother…leaving me. A dark, narrow alley. A man’s voice. Hunger. And then pain. Sharp. Obliterating. I feel my life leaving me. And I wake up. Screaming. But you already knew about that.” He curbs my weak attempt at laughter by placing a light kiss on my trembling lips. He wipes away the hot tears stinging my eyes.

He pulls me closer to himself, carefully, as if he's handling a glass heart.

It must be painful for him, to have me leaning on his barely recovered strength like this, but I feel too selfish to let go.

He murmurs hushed words in my ears. Not sweet, impossible promises like he used to. But simple, sturdy words that I can rely on.

“It’s gone now, Mako. It’s all in the past. You’re here now. You’re safe. I’m right here. With you. And I love you. I love you so much, Makoto.”

 

And I know he is right.

And I know it is true.

And I know I am loved.


	46. Friends and Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sousuke's POV.  
> I can't think of a summary for this chapter. Read it and you'll find out I guess.

 

 

 

_He stands by my bed, wearing nothing, his face ghost-white and sickly-looking._

_“I can’t seem to rid myself of you, my lord.” He smiles like the setting sun, reeking of the end of love._

_I cannot bear it. I cannot bear this hideous, unreachable nearness of him. I cannot bear the fact that I still do not know if I am awake or asleep- whether he is here before me, or a shadow haunting my mind._

_His hands are cold as they reach for me._

_“I’ve been wanting to fuck you. You’ve made it so no one else will do anymore.”_

_“Makoto…”_

_“Isn’t my other name more preferable to you? I’ll be gone from your sight soon, my lord. If you let me. We can use the same rules again. No kissing. And I’ll be gone before you wake up. If you let me…”_

_“I…”_

_“Let me be your whore again, my lord. Things worked out better that way, wouldn’t you agree?”_

_He reaches out a hand for me, a gold-green ring around his finger._

_My blood turns to ice at his touch._

_He falls into bed with me._

_I prey on him like a hungry wolf savaging a lamb._

_As I touch him, he turns to dust and crumbles before my eyes- bones and skin and all._

_All I am left with is ash and decay and nothing._

_Everything that is real, all of the world, spins out of focus, blurs and vanishes._

_In our parting, there is nothing but a thick fog clouding my vision, filling my lungs with its poison, killing me even as I stumble around blindly, calling out his name._

******

 

 

I wake up in a panic, clutching my chest.

The night is dark, though a silvery sliver of moon shines in through the thin white curtains drawn up across the window, fluttering in a stray breeze. Makoto is sleeping soundly by my side, facing me, his face shadowed.

 

I have to be certain.

I must make sure.

 

I reach out for him carefully, afraid that he will be spirited away any moment to a world of ephemeral abstractions, pure and untouchable, where he truly belongs.

The purest soul dwells within him- a perfect form, beyond the corruption of this downtrodden world which has defiled him, clipped his wings, and left him in the care of such a sinner as me.

 

His skin trembles at my touch, and he wakes up suddenly, looking frightened.

“S-Sousuke?”

“Did I scare you, Makoto?”

“N-not really…”

But he wraps a blanket around himself and sits up, peering into the darkness, trying to read my face in the dull moonlight.

I shake off the unnerving fear gripping my heart and push his hair out of his eyes.

He moves closer to me, and leans his head against my good shoulder.

 

“Did you have a bad dream, Sousuke?” His voice is a whisper as he finds my sweating palm and grips my hand in his.

“How did you know?”

“I have enough experience in this matter to know when someone’s had a nightmare.”

 

I laugh half-heartedly at the way he smiles at me, and I embrace him, holding him closer.

Tentatively, he turns his face towards me, reaching up to kiss my lips.

A sweet, shy kiss- like a stray, white feather caressing me as it falls from above- remnant of some forgotten fragment of my dream.

He blushes at his own boldness, and hides his face against my chest.

 

I want to know what it means for him- this simple gesture of love he has shown me. Why it makes his skin grow warm and his face redden. Why his heart beats faster in my arms. Why he still loves me after everything I have said and done.

The words still unspoken, the questions I will never ask- they keep me apart from him. And I cannot bear that anymore. I cannot stand the distance.

So I run my fingers all over him, and I push him back into bed, and I climb on top of him, surprising him, surprising the pain still lingering in my body.

His eyes widen momentarily- silvery green in the moonlit night- before closing up softly with a sigh as our lips meet again.

I taste every inch of his skin that I can reach.

He is naked under the blankets, and surrenders himself to me completely- letting himself be kissed on the neck, letting my teeth leave marks on his chest, sucking on my fingers, opening his legs for me without complaint, taking me in, calling out my name over and over as I heedlessly fill him with my cum.

Eyes still closed, he smiles as he takes me in his arms, and we share a kiss before I rest my head against his chest.

Falling asleep this way- being sure of his body underneath me, listening to his heartbeat as it steadies- keeps me calm, helps me forget everything.

He forgives, and accepts me. He saves me from myself.

 

******

 

I wake up to his smiling face, his fingers running through my hair, his voice calling out my name.

He is wearing one of my robes, dark blue silk, which hangs a little loose around his shoulders and clings to his slender waist. The fabric ripples like ocean waves across his skin as he moves, adjusting the breakfast tray he has brought for me.

His hair is a little wet, and his skin fresh and damp from bathing early in the morning. A single droplet of water traces a path from a strand of hair tucked behind his ear, down the nape of his neck, disappearing into his robe.

I want to taste it as it travels down Makoto’s skin. I want to take him to bed again.

“How long have you been awake, Mako?” I sit up in bed to take in the sight of him properly.

His face is still rather pale, but his cheeks are tinted pink from the hot bath water. He smells a little like soap, with a hint of something floral drifting through the air around him- a scent deeply embedded in his skin, which fills me with longing whenever he is near me.

It is painful to tear myself away from him long enough to wash up in the adjacent room. I have half a mind to bathe but I want to hurry back to him, and be near him again. I wish I had woken up with him, so we could bathe together, like before. The memory of the last time we shared a bath cuts through me, and I cringe.

With a few ill-chosen words, I have tainted our time together, colored its memory a ghastly shade of rusting red with tints of tombstone grey peeking through.

I splash cold water across my face, and try to shake off the sinking feeling within my heart.

If we stay caught up in this cycle of guilt and retribution, we will never be able to love each other properly.

 

When I return, Makoto is lying on his stomach, absorbed in a book, nibbling a strawberry, legs thrown up in the air. He waves them around like a pair of delicate ivory pins, making the silk robe ride up, exposing his…

Disturbed by my return, he rolls over and sits up straight, putting away the book to smile at me.

I wish he would go back to the way he was, unaware of me, so I could look at him to my heart’s content.

 

When I was younger, my grandmother was struck with the sudden whim of being a patron to some painter. He was a sallow-looking man, appearing too old for his thirty years, sulking in a dusty old parlour of the Yamazaki castle, forced to paint my grandmother’s lapdogs cavorting with my grandfather’s wolfhounds. She spent hours forcing an army of bedraggled, harassed-looking maids and pages to get the indifferent canines in what she deemed to be suitable poses. And all with my mother making the most derisive remarks about the whole project in the background.

But the painter always looked bored and distracted; even when a page tripped over a particularly small poodle and knocked his easel down.

Except when his eye landed on one of the servants, and he became desperate to paint their portrait. A certain servant that my grandmother deemed too young at the time to be exposed to _that sort of thing_ , whatever she meant by it. A boy about 7 years of age or so, with flashing green eyes. _A true vision of impeccable innocence and beauty_ , said the poor enraptured artist _._ Or something like that. The sentimentality of it made my mother scoff at the dinner table as she related the whole dramatic speech to us.

My grandmother said the whole obsession frightened her, and I think I finally understand why, though at the time I found it baffling.

Who would lose their head over some little urchin who scrubbed floors and light fires for a living?

The painter said Makoto looked like an angel. Some ethereal being. Said he could picture lucent, pearly white wings at Makoto’s back.

The whole thing led to quite a few scenes, and I think my grandmother ran out of her patronly generosity, and had the man thrown out eventually.

I was rarely home in those days, and barely noticed my surroundings. I certainly had no eye for some brat causing my family such needless distraction. My head was full of my own strange thoughts and unwanted feelings.

How I wish now that I had been paying attention then.

I wonder if my grandmother allowed Makoto to be painted. And where that painting is now, if it ever existed.

I wonder what became of that poor artist, raving after ideals of beauty and angels too pure for this world.

I wonder if he knows what became of his green-eyed cherub…

 

 

“Brooding so early in the morning?” He smiles at me and pats the bed, inviting me.

He pours out a cup of tea for me, and plies me with toast and honey. I let him feed me, watching him smile happily at being able to fuss over his lover.

 

I wonder what stops me from asking him about that particular episode- about the artist, and the portrait that may or may not exist. He would surely remember all the fuss he caused. But I cannot bring myself to remind him of the years we have left behind us. Of the boy he used to be.

 

After he is satisfied with having fed me, he becomes a nervous- unsure of what to do with his hands, unable to really look at me.

I truly cannot bear it. I cannot stand the distance between us- this insecurity, this uncertainty.

And I have no words of apology or regret to offer him anymore- language fails me and my thoughts falter, flickering in the face of the unspeakable vehemence with which I love him.

Nothing I can say, no declarations of devotion, would ever truly express my desire to him. I burn away, wanting to possess his heart, his limbs, his lips, his soul, his perfect eyes…

So I take him in my arms, ignoring his playful protests, and pull him into my lap.

The robe comes off easily enough.

He tastes like tea and strawberries.

I have him on his back, his cock hard and dripping in my mouth, have him moaning and panting, blushing all over, when the door swings open.

 

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF…” The voice sounds shrilly familiar, and I hear a table fall over as uncoordinated feet stomp around on the floor, unsure of where to go.

In that same instant, Makoto cums in my mouth, gasping my name.

 

I turn around slowly, lifting myself up from between Makoto’s legs, and feel my own hardness go slack at the sight of Rin. My bumbling friend is red in the face, trying to put a little end table back on its feet, after having knocked it over in his confusion and embarrassment.

“Want to join us, Matsuoka?” Makoto’s smile is laced with the poison of jealousy and the defiance of having defeated a particularly stubborn enemy, as he sits up and stares hard at Rin.

“I…Errr…NO THANK YOU! Is this what you two get up to in…in…” Rin’s face goes as purplish red as his hair, and he manages to knock down the same table over again after mere moments of putting it right.

“In the bedroom, you mean?” I cannot help but smile at my best friend, because that is who is. Not someone I have lost, not an unrequited love, but someone I care for and cherish with all my heart.

“Well, if you put it that way…” Rin rubs the back of his neck nervously, and looks away as Makoto dislodges himself from me to put his robe back on.

“Should I leave then? Now that your _friend_ is here?” Makoto is pouting at me quite obviously.

He looks even more beautiful like this- confident of his place in my bed, yet still trying to rile me up.

“Don’t be silly, Makoto. He’d probably toss me out of the window if you left because of me.” Rin recovers quickly enough from his embarrassment as soon as Makoto clothes himself and I wipe my lips clean of his cum.

Makoto brightens up upon hearing this, and I rather regret watching his jealousy disappear.

 

“And what brings you to my bedroom so early in the morning, Rin? Does Kaoru know you’re here?” I would prefer to have Rin wait downstairs while I indulge in a bath with Makoto, but that would make him sulk.

“She isn’t my mother you know. But yes, she does know I’m here.” Rin grins sheepishly at the mention of his wife.

“Well?” I make do with taking Makoto in my arms again, as both of us face Rin.

He tentatively sits down at the foot of the bed, trying to look inconspicuous.

“I…Well, I just dropped by to see if you were…you know…fine and everything.” He avoids my gaze, and I know he is lying.

“Kaoru sent you, didn’t she?” That woman as nosy as she is clever.

“Well…” The hesitation in Rin’s voice is confirmation enough.

“She wanted to know how the party went, didn’t she? Well, I think you can see it went quite well.” I place a kiss on Makoto’s shoulder to supplement my words with proof, making him squirm a little in my arms.

I can tell that Makoto is as impatient as I am to continue where we left off.

“Oh, right. Yes. Well, ummm. I’ll let her know that then. She also wants to know if you two will join us for tea tomorrow evening. At that froofy place she likes so much.” Rin smiles a sharp-toothed smile at us both, refusing to budge from the bed.

“You mean that froofy place _you_ like so much. With the pink doilies and little pastel cakes and floral teas?” I remember being dragged to the ridiculous little tea parlour once a month when Rin and I were studying together.

“Heh. Well, yes. I think Makoto will like it too.” Rin shoots a mischievous grin at my lover, followed by an outrageous wink.

“Maybe you should join us after all. I’m sure your wife won’t mind if you have just one little romp in our bed, would she?” Makoto shifts a little, exposing his chest to Rin, responding to the wink with a lascivious lick of the lips.

Rin looks half ready to take Makoto up on the offer.

I think even a year ago, I would have liked nothing better than to fuck them both at the same time.

But now the thought of sharing Makoto with anyone sears through me like a bolt of hot white lightning.

I shove his hands out of the way and cover him up again.

“ _Goodbye_.” I stare pointedly at Rin, urging him to leave.

“Ah…Right, yes. I’ll be on my way then. Should we expect you for tea tomorrow?” His gaze lingers on Makoto, a little too approvingly for my taste. But then Makoto always provokes such reactions in men and women alike.

And Rin always did have a rather keen eye for beauty.

“We would love to join you.” Makoto smiles brightly at Rin, waving his long fingers delicately at him, as if shooing off a mildly irritating fly.

“Oh, and Kaoru said to bring the two boys. I don’t remember what they’re called. And Makoto’s friend. The doctor. Whatever his name is.” Rin extends the invitation harmlessly, and leaves the room after winking copiously at me again, and making his right cheek bulge by pushing his tongue against it.

 

There is silence in the room, thick and heavy and impenetrable like lead.

Even though Rin did not say his name, I feel Nanase’s weighty presence lodging itself between us once again.

I will not let my pettiness get the best of me again.

I will not make any more mistakes.

I will not lose Makoto again.

 

“I know how important he is to you. And I may not like him, but I will not try to push him out of your life anymore.” I turn Makoto’s face to mine, and kiss him lightly on the forehead.

“Thank you, Sousuke.”

 

The day turns grey with thunder and rain.

I keep him in bed with me for hours, pleasuring him, listening to the sound of his rapturous voice mingling with the rainfall pattering against the windowpane.

If this is nothing more than a dream, I would have us both trapped in its pleasing illusions forever, with no one to wake us up.

 


	47. Interlude: A Recap of all the Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As suggested by Mila, and seconded by AniFre 101, I am adding a sort of appendix to the fic, including character profiles, notes on the setting, and a summary of important plot points in the story so far.  
> Enjoy.  
> A new chapter will be posted in a few hours as well.

 

So it’s been more than a year since I started this fic, and I think it’s time for a little recap before we continue on to the end.

At some point, I wrote out a few notes about the fic’s timeline, and some background information about the setting, character ages, and profiles etc.

So I will be sharing those here, before moving on to the next chapter.

First of all, here is a brief timeline of major events in the fic. I made this a while back, when I was asked the ages of the characters, and I think it works.

 

 **MAY 1845-** **Makoto is brought to Sousuke by Takano**

 

 **OCTOBER** **1845-** **Makoto is attacked in the woods by Handa**

 

 **MARCH** **1846 -** **Nagisa finds Sousuke throwing away Makoto’s book (which is a gift from Haru)**

 

 **JULY 1846-** **Makoto visits Haru in the city with Nagisa and Rei**

 

 **SEPTEMBER 1846-** **Sousuke and Makoto break up; Sousuke is injured**

 

 **JANUARY 1847-** **Meeting in the Café, Rin gives Makoto Sousuke’s new address**

 

 **MARCH 1847-** **Makoto’s book is published and Sousuke gets back with Makoto after the party at Haru’s house**

 

 

** SETTING **

 

In terms of location/time period, this fic is set in an alternate universe, in a place called the Mid-North continent. The name of the country is something I would have to give more thought to, in all honesty. I have always imagined it to be a place in the northern hemisphere, slightly above the equator, where you get to experience all 4 seasons. The summers are cool, turning rainy towards the end. The winters are marked with a number of snow storms. Spring and autumn do not last long, but they are intensely colorful for being so short-lived.

Aesthetically speaking, the fic is set in a time period which can be seen as a mixture of Romanticism in Europe (think Byron and the Shelleys), and the late Edo Era of Japan (think Samurai Champloo, to make things simpler). The architecture would be a classical, neogothic style mixed with glimpses of wooden rooftops, and intricate carvings. Stone and wood melded together to create beautiful buildings, especially in the urban centres, like the city where Haru lives. You could expect straight pillars (following the classical Greek and Roman styles) of stone, with layered, sloping rooftops common to traditional Japanese buildings. The décor, mostly of mixed wood and metal on stone surfaces, would depict gargoyles side by side with kitsune. The use of wood in architecture meant a constant need for maintenance, and only the very rich could afford extensive decorative carvings.

It’s very hard to do world-building in a story where the geography and setting exist only peripherally to the characters. And when I started writing this story, I never thought I would continue it long enough to have to come up with extra features for this world, though I always had vague ideas of the places and relevant aesthetics when I was writing it.

The closest example within the fic itself of this architecture would be the restaurant Sousuke and Makoto visit in Chapter 42, though it is a newer establishment, and the building is made of brick instead of stone.

Haru’s house is the best example of this, though I have not described it very much. It is a square stone building, with sloping rooftops of metal and wood, foisted on top for decorative purpose. The house is greyish, giving off a cold, distant air. The rooftop was painted red, with gilt edges when it was still new, but the gold-film has long faded, and the red paint turned to rust.

On each of the four edges of the rooftop, there are stone sculptures depicting various creatures from one of the most popular myths of the land- gargoyles, anthropomorphic foxes, and a couple of popular (but lesser) deities.

 

The castle Sousuke lived in when the fic started dates back to an earlier era, and has an original gothic appeal to it, while its interiors were decorated in the baroque fashion for the most part.

Visually, this painting is the closest I’ve come to seeing my mental image of the castle realized:

 

_**CASTLE AT TWILIGHT- Isaac Levitan, 1898** _

 

 

 

** CHARACTERS **

Following are brief descriptions of characters, relating their current ages, occupations, sexual orientations, and love interests (where applicable). For the sake of clarity, the phrase ** _in love with_** suggests romantic attachment, while the term _**loves**_ connotes platonic affection. Of course, the two can exist side by side, and they do for some characters. Some details about side-characters exist more as background notes which I keep for myself, so they might surprise you. Original characters are marked with (*). 

 

 **Makoto Tachibana** **:** 21 years old. Former prostitute. Currently a romantic poet. Bisexual. In love with Sousuke Yamazaki. Loves Haruka Nanase.

 

 **Sousuke Yamazaki** : 25 years old. Disinherited nobleman. Currently jobless, amatuer cat-person.  Homosexual. In love with/loves Makoto Tachibana. Formerly loved Rin Matsuoka, who is still his best friend.

 

 **Nanase Haruka** : 22 years old. Medical student. Intern at the University Hospital. Homoromantic Asexual. Is in love with/loves Makoto Tachibana.

 

 **Rin Matsuoka** : 25 years old. Nobleman and head of the Matsuoka clan. Dandy, and amateur exporter of exotic teas. Bisexual. Is in love with/married to Kaoru Fukui. Loves/is best friends with Sousuke Yamazaki.

 

 **Gou Matsuoka** : 24 years old. Sister to Rin Matsuoka. Currently studying law and philosophy on her own, with help from Lord Yashiro Yamazaki, Sousuke Yamazaki’s older brother. Bisexual. Loves her brother and her mother. Adores and worships her sister-in-law. Was formerly infatuated with Sousuke Yamazaki. Is starting to find Lord Yashiro Yamazaki very adorable, despite the fact that he is a huge nerd.

 

 **Rei Ryuugazaki** : 15 years old. Orphan taken in by Sousuke Yamazaki. Student of life sciences. Homosexual. Loves/is starting to fall in love with Nagisa Hazuki. Haruka Nanase’s biggest fan.

 

 **Nagisa Hazuki** : 13 years old. Orphan taken in by Sousuke Yamazaki. Currently being homeschooled by Makoto and Takano. Bisexual. Loves Rei Ryuugazaki. Makoto Tachibana’s biggest fan.

 

 **Itsuki Takano*** : 61 years old. Butler for the Yamazaki clan since he was 16 years old. Currently acting as pseudo-mother/nanny to Sousuke, Makoto, and Nagisa. Proud parent to Kou the cat. Heterosexual. Was married to his childhood sweetheart, who died in childbirth, along with their firstborn daughter. Did not fall in love again. 

 

 **Kaoru Fukui*** : 26 years old. Only child of the Fukui clan. Heiress of the Fukui shipping empire. Aromantic heterosexual. Is fond of/married to Rin Matsuoka. Meddler par excellence in all of her friends’ romantic lives.

 

 **Kisumi Shigino** : 24 years old. Runaway. Prostitute. Homosexual. Is not particularly in love with anyone at the moment. Loves Makoto Tachibana. Sworn protector of Nasser Ghazali.

 

 **Nasser Ghazali*** : 15 years old. Past unknown. Aromantic Asexual. Past affiliations unknown. Currently fond of Kisumi Shigino.

 

 **Miho Amakata** : 56 years old. Former prostitute. Current proprietor of a male-only brothel called “The Forbidden Rose”. Homosexual. Romantic affiliations unknown.

 

 **Goro Sasabe** : 51 years old. Doctor. Uncle to Haruka Nanase (married to Haruka’s paternal aunt). Heterosexual. Preparing to retire and trying to convince his favorite nephew to take over his practice. 

 

 **Aiichiro Nitori** : 18 years old. Valet to Haruka Nanase. Homosexual. Is being tutored by Haruka Nanase, but has no idea what he wants to do in the future. Frequently pestered by Momotarou Mikoshiba to go on a date with him. Devoted to Haruka Nanase, and captivated by Makoto Tachibana (who Nitori thinks is the most beautiful man alive).

 

 **Momotarou Mikoshiba** : 20 years old. Valet to Sousuke Yamazaki. Currently appointed as Makoto Tachibana’s bodyguard. Bisexual. Has a massive crush on Aiichiro Nitori. Devoted to Makoto Tachibana and Nagisa Hazuki. Doesn't care much for employer Sousuke Yamazaki.

 

 **Seijurou Mikoshiba** : 27 years old. Supervisor of Sousuke Yamazaki’s estate. Currently unsure of his position. Heterosexual. Harbours a one-sided love for Gou Matsuoka, who is beyond his reach.

 

 **Haya Tachibana*** : 40 years old. Mother to Makoto Tachibana. Former kitchen maid at the Yamazaki estate. Former mistress of Duke Yamazaki. Heterosexual. Presumed dead.

 

 **Duchess Katsuko Yamazaki*** : 45 years old. Mother to Yashiro Yamazaki and Sousuke Yamazaki. Wife of Duke Taichi Yamazaki. Currently secluded at a monastery, having taken a vow of silence. Sexual orientation unknown. Loves her sons. Detests her husband.

 

 **Duke Taichi Yamazaki*** : 55 years old. Father to Yashiro Yamazaki and Sousuke Yamazaki (along with several other illegitimate children he refuses to acknowledge or support). Heterosexual. Loves his son Yashiro Yamazaki and wife Katsuko Yamazaki. Detests his son Sousuke Yamazaki. Currently living with a kabuki actress (who hates him and is only after his money). Certified asshole.

 

 **Lord Yashiro Yamazaki*** : 26 years old. Brother to Sousuke Yamazaki. Heir to the Yamazaki estate. Amateur novelist. Tutor to Gou Matsuoka. Total nerd. Heterosexual. Loves his younger brother. Tolerates his parents. Is in love with Gou Matsuoka, but too much of a dork to confess to her.  

 

 **Chizuko Nanase*** : 43 years old. Mother to Haruka Nanase. Bisexual. Current location & romantic affiliations unknown.

 

 **Kenji Nanase*** : 40 years old. Father to Haruka Nanase. Heterosexual. Current location & romantic affiliations unknown.

 

 **Kou the Cat*** : 1 ½ years old. Breed unknown, but possibly a Japanese Bobtail. Strangely green-colored eyes. Black fur. Sexual orientation unknown. Enjoys warm laps and lazy afternoon naps. Mildly fond of Takano, Nagisa, and Makoto. Has claimed ownership of Sousuke Yamazaki, though he has no knowledge of this arrangement.

 

 **Shou** **Handa*** : 31 years old at time of death. Generally gross human being murdered by Sousuke Yamazaki, with the cooperation of Haruka Nanase. 

 

 

 

** A BRIEF SUMMARY OF THE ANGST INFLICTED UPON READERS THUS FAR **

 

As a child, Makoto was raised on the Yamazaki estate ruled by Duke Yamazaki, Sousuke’s father. Makoto’s mother was a kitchen maid with a flighty nature, and was often entangled in affairs with visiting noblemen. Makoto was told that his father was a vassal of Duke Yamazaki, who died when Makoto was still a child, but later on Sousuke’s mother reveals that he was a highborn man, if not a noble. Makoto’s mother never told him about his true parentage, so Makoto is still unaware of his father’s real identity.

Makoto was raised at the main Yamazaki castle, and was somewhat looked after by other maids and servants, as his mother never paid much attention to him. Neglected and needy for affection, he developed a one-sided attachment toward the younger Yamazaki son, Sousuke, and took to following him around.

When Makoto was 13, his mother was caught having an affair with Duke Yamazaki by the Duchess. She was furious and immediately had Makoto’s mother expelled from the castle. Though Makoto was not expelled, he was confused and distraught by what was happening, and did not understand the true nature of the events. He simply followed his mother where she went.

Mother and son lived in extreme poverty and desperation for 3 weeks until one night, Makoto’s mother gave him some money, and left him on his own. Makoto believed she had taken her own life by drowning herself, as she was often depressed and talked about suicide in this manner before leaving.

Makoto tried to live off the streets, picking pockets, begging, and thieving but it did not last long. As winter came, survival became impossible. Without really knowing what he was getting into, he accepted a stranger’s offer to accompany him into a dark alley. The stranger promised Makoto food in return for a small favor. Makoto was raped and left in an unconscious state, though he was paid with some stale bread and a few copper coins.

After this incident, Makoto sank deeper and deeper into this dark life, and soon gave himself up for lost. Throughout his teenage years, he remembered Sousuke, and yearned to get back to him one day, his love for the young nobleman fuelling his will to live on. 

Makoto was 16 when he was taken into a brothel owned by Madam Miho, where he remained until he was purchased by Duchess Yamazaki. While was he in the brothel, he befriended Kisumi, a fellow prostitute. Makoto also started writing fragments of poetry around this time, but he had a habit of ripping them up afterwards, so none of his earlier works survived.

Soon after Makoto left the castle, Sousuke's homosexuality was discovered by his ruthless father, and he was banished to a distant corner of the estate. He took up residence in an older castle, gone to ruin over the years, and considered haunted by the locals. Takano, the Yamazaki estate's butler, went with him along with a few other servants to help him set up. Sousuke had inherited a considerable amount of money from his mother's brother, who died in exile overseas. Sousuke's uncle was also gay, and realized that Sousuke would have no help from his own father once his nephew's sexuality was found out, and left his rather substantial inheritance to Sousuke. As a result, Sousuke did not have to suffer the fate of most younger sons who did not get much money from their fathers' estates, as only the eldest sons were considered legitimate heirs amongst the nobility. Sousuke took up with quite a few lovers and prostitutes during this time, and even visited brothels at the city. He was around 21 years old when he went to The Forbidden Rose, and ended up buying Kisumi for the night. He did not remember Makoto, and would not have recognized him even if the two had met at that time. 

When he was 19, Makoto was taken away to Sousuke’s private castle to keep him entertained. At first, Sousuke only treated Makoto as someone to help him get rid of his sexual urges, and was often unkind towards Makoto. After Nagisa and Rei arrived at the castle, Makoto became ill because of the mistreatment and psychological abuse he was facing at Sousuke’s hands. During Makoto's illness, Sousuke came to realize that he was in love with Makoto. At around this time, Makoto met and befriended Haru, who was a medical student, and the nephew of the local physician, Dr Sasabe. Before Sousuke could confess his love to Makoto, he left to attend Rin’s wedding. In Sousuke’s absence, Makoto recovered, but became ill again after one of Sousuke’s servants attempted to rape him in the woods.

In Sousuke’s absence, Makoto grew closer to Haru, who was the first person to ever give Makoto unconditional affection and a gift in the form of a book of poems. After Makoto’s second recovery, Sousuke confessed his love to Makoto, and showered him with gifts and jewels, even presenting him with a ring (provided by Duchess Yamazaki) to cement their new relationship.

Makoto felt as if this was simply another way of buying him, and did not believe that Sousuke’s love for him went beyond physical lust. This led to Makoto sinking into a deep depression, and having a breakdown when Sousuke burned the contract of ownership tying Makoto legally to Sousuke.

In order to make Makoto happy, Sousuke then promised to replace the contract with something more akin to marriage contract, and sent Makoto to the city with Rei and Nagisa. Rei wanted to gain a proper education, and that was only possible in the city. Haru agreed to keep the boy at his house, knowing that it would be important to Makoto. During Makoto’s stay with Haru, he was visited by Duchess Yamazaki who revealed unsavory details about his past, and questioned his relationship with Sousuke. As a result, Makoto felt unworthy of being with Sousuke, and refused to see Sousuke when he came to bring him and Nagisa home from the city. Makoto also returned Sousuke’s ring to him, after learning from Duchess Yamazaki that it had been given as a gift to Makoto’s mother while she was one of Duke Yamazaki’s mistresses.

Later on, after meeting with Kisumi and asking him questions about Makoto’s sordid life at the brothel, enraged by his mother’s words against Makoto, and doubting his own love, Sousuke forced his way into Haru’s bedroom where Makoto was sleeping next to Haru. Makoto was always unable to sleep peacefully by himself, because his violent and painful past led him to develop symptoms of depression and PTSD. Fuelled by his jealousy, Sousuke took his anger out on Makoto, treated him with violence, and ended their relationship by paying Makoto after forcibly having sex with him.

Makoto considered suicide after this incident, but was reminded that even without Sousuke, he had people in his life who cared for him. Instead of drowning himself, Makoto made his way back to the brothel where he spent 3 years of his life, and collapsed in Kisumi’s arms, who brought him back to Haru’s house.

Sousuke made his way to the house of one of Makoto’s ex-clients, whose name he learned from Kisumi. Kisumi also told Sousuke that this man was very violent against Makoto, and Sousuke thought he could repent for the way he had treated Makoto by taking revenge for his sake. However, in a drunken state, Sousuke was injured by the man he planned to kill, and dumped in front of his family’s house in the city, on the verge of death. Rin found him there by chance, and got him the medical attention he needed with the help of Sousuke’s mother and older brother. Sousuke was later disowned by his father, but the details of what the disowning implied are still not fully known.

While recovering, Makoto learned through Haru that Sousuke was seriously injured, and was being treated at the hospital affiliated with Haru’s university. He went to see Sousuke, who was unconscious, and ran into Sousuke’s mother, and his former love-interest and best friend Rin.

Rin was upset that Makoto could show love for Sousuke in a way he could not. Though Rin was in love with Sousuke, he did not want to defy the norms of his society, and married a girl of his mother’s choosing. But Rin resented Makoto's visit, and did not tell Sousuke that Makoto came to see him while he was unconscious.

Makoto did not hear from Sousuke again, until he ran into him at a café. Though Sousuke was too shocked to say anything, Rin chased after Makoto and gave him Sousuke’s current address. Driven by his desire, and his need to hurt Sousuke back, Makoto reignited his physical relationship with Sousuke. However, Sousuke wanted them to be lovers again, and tried to win Makoto back.

Despite not wanting to fall into the same pattern all over again, Makoto found himself unable to resist Sousuke's renewed affections. Going against Haru’s wishes, and hurting Haru’s feelings in the process, he gave in to Sousuke once more. Haru was in love with Makoto, but he did not want a sexual relationship. He felt distraught and upset at not being enough for Makoto, though he knew Makoto loved him in his own way. He cut off the chaste physical intimacy he shared with Makoto, and both of them suffered because of it.

After Nagisa brought Sousuke news of Makoto’s first book of poetry being published, and invited him to a party at Haru’s house, Sousuke decided to redouble his efforts to win Makoto back. At the party, Sousuke falsely told a story about being Makoto’s lover for years, so no one would gossip about Makoto’s past in the brothel. He and Makoto confessed their love to each other again, and somewhat healed their fractured relationship.

Kisumi also attended the party, hoping to be a part of Makoto’s life once more, but realized to his dismay that his presence would only hurt Makoto. When he returned to the brothel, he was told that Makoto’s violent ex-client had badly hurt one of the boys. The boy, called Nasser, was a foreigner and could barely communicate with Kisumi. Still, Kisumi wanted to protect him, as he blamed himself for being unable to save Makoto from the same client in the past.

Kisumi asked Haru for help when the boy’s injury worsened. Rei and Haru accompanied Kisumi to the brothel. After witnessing the kind of place Makoto lived in, Rei felt incredibly guilty about the way he had treated Makoto previously, and was traumatized by witnessing Nasser’s condition. Haru was also shaken, realizing that the kind of pain Makoto endured in his past could never be translated fully into words. He decided not to tell Makoto about the visit, because he felt it would break Makoto apart again.

 

 

And that brings us relatively up to date.

Feel free to ask questions about any details/characters I may have left out.

And happy SouMako week, which starts today! 


	48. The Uncertainty of Renewal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here is the new chapter (and not another recap), as promised earlier.

Takano is fussing over Kou, and Sousuke is going through his correspondence, seated by the window. A little wrinkle of annoyance settles between his brows as he peruses a rather lengthy letter. If Takano wasn’t here, I would sit in his lap and kiss his forehead and make him forget his worries.

But I worry that I might bother him if I do that.

I worry he might push me away, lightly and carefully, and tell me not to bother myself about his concerns.

 

 

Nagisa bounds into the parlour just as I’m finishing my third cup of tea.

Haru follows him inside, looking a little tired.

His face is paler than usual and there are dark circles under his eyes.

I am overcome with an urge to run my fingers through his hair and feed him one of the small cakes Takano bakes for my breakfast every morning.

But I know he will not want it.

He will be embarrassed, and push me away.

So I stay where I am, and offer him a perfunctory smile, which slips his notice.

 

I want to love Haru and Sousuke with everything I have.

It should be simple.

But it isn’t.

 

Nagisa bounces into my arms, almost knocking the delicate little cup- white with little bluebells painted around its edges- right out of my hand. He kisses me unabashedly on the lips- something he hasn’t done before, surprising me with the sweet innocence of his gesture.

He tells me he misses me, and settles down in my embrace, talking up a storm without pausing for breath.

 

Haru looks a little agitated, standing in front of me, staring at the carpet.

Sousuke grunts a greeting at him, to which he nods politely, head still bowed.

Takano offers him a seat beside mine, and pours him some tea, which Haru refuses.

 

He talks to me without meeting my eye. He tells me he’s only here to bring Nagisa to me.

That he and Rei won’t be joining us for tea with Rin and his wife.

He talks to me, but he will not look at me.

It feels as if the very sight of me will hurt him, that he is protecting himself from me.

It hurts in a way nothing has hurt me before.

I learn a new kind of pain for every year that I continue living.

 

Having told me everything of importance to him, Nagisa walks over to Sousuke, throws his arms around my lord’s neck and gives him a peck on the lips, same as he did with me, completely taking Sousuke by surprise.

Sousuke laughs and ruffles Nagisa’s hair. Soon they’re deep in conversation, catching up, smiling happily at each other.

 

When I finally catch Haru’s eye, he looks as if he will cry.

It has been so long since he allowed me to be near him, since he opened his heart to me, invited me in with those clear-as-sky eyes. But they cloud up in my presence now, and banish me from their purity.

It makes me feel like my heart is shrivelling up, and it becomes hard to breathe evenly.

But I have made my choice.

And this is the price I have to pay.

 

“Yamazaki, can I speak with you before I leave? Alone?” Haru looks away from me as quickly as he caught my eye.

Sousuke glances at me with a puzzled expression before following Haru out of the parlour, grumbling something about hating his family name being called out like that.

 

I hate myself for how easily I give in to my insecurities, and the seemingly endless amount of hateful uncertainty I still harbour against my own being.

I want to run after Haru and Sousuke, grab both their wrists, and beg them not to keep secrets from me.

But I know Haru is only trying to protect me from some truth that has already cast its curse on me, and left claw-marks across the surface of my bones.

He sees me as someone who is fragile, weak, and unable to look after himself. So does Sousuke.

They want to love me by protecting me, knowing that it is too late to save me.

I would let them have their way, as it makes them happy.

The truth is, my armour has long since melded with my skin, turning it to rusted metal.

The irony is that only my protectors can harm me now- knowing where the chinks and cracks expose my weakness, knowing exactly where to strike, if they would.

As they have.  

 

Nagisa tugs at my sleeve, demanding attention, bringing an inadvertent smile to my face.

He reclaims his place in my arms and talks to me about insignificant little things, pausing to ask Takano and Kou how much they’ve missed him, because he has missed them both unbearably.

He is here to stay with us for a few days, and his excitement knows no bounds.

He talks about Rei with a little concern in his voice, and a hint of sadness.

He tells me about a new way of showing affection he has learned from Rei, which explains the newly acquired habit of kissing on the lips.

His innocence should make me cry for everything I have lost.

But it fills up my heart with golden light, and I can see fields of sunflowers illuminated by his childish smile, blossoming across my vision.

I find myself daydreaming about being as young and pure as he is. About my lord finding me in his room, with flowers in my hands, and taking me in his arms, and kissing me sweetly on lips- nothing but love in his heart.

And it makes me blush, as though this silly little vision is real- was real, was a true part of my past.

It’s as if I’m forging myself a new memory, a life that grows and flourishes side by side with the one I have already lived, stretching back into the past- fireflies flutter into the abyss, and illuminate it briefly.

 

 

When Sousuke comes back, he makes his way towards me, and kisses my forehead.

He does not flinch from my gaze like Haru, but he is holding something back from me, and it hurts, and my little daydream fades.

The past is returned to its darkness.

 

We lose the day to a fleeting sort of joy in Nagisa’s company.

As evening approaches, Sousuke nudges at my elbow, saying that we should get ready to leave.

Nagisa is already dressed up in a new button-down shirt, a salmon-colored vest, and straight brown pants. He is wearing new boots, which Haru has most likely bought for him. Even though rolling around on the carpet with Kou has left his clothes a little rumpled up, he still looks fresh as a daisy, and is very eager to go out.

Leaving him with Takano, who is tutting his displeasure at the mess Nagisa has made of his attire- and clearly irked at not being invited along- I follow Sousuke up the stairs, into the bedroom.

 

With an unexpected ferocity, he grabs me by the waist as soon as the door shuts behind us, and kisses me on the mouth.

His fingers linger lightly on my hips, under my clothes, against my skin.

“I love you, Makoto. I love you so much.”

The words would have made me cry a month ago.

I would have wanted him to prove his claim by taking me to bed.

Yet now, I sense an unsettled ache in his voice. As if he’s asking me to help him, asking me to love him back the way I used to, asking me to trust him.

And in my heart, I think he’s asking for too much.

And in my heart, I know I will let myself fall to pieces all over again if I can give him what he needs of me.

 

 

********

 

  

I am dressed up in a traditional dressing robe of green silk- they are in fashion once again, and all the rage nowadays in the city’s fashionable circles.

Men and women alike, with enough means to spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes, can be seen walking around in this graceful attire in the late evening- on their way to watch a play, or have dinner in a quiet place overlooking the sea, well-removed from the multitudinous everyday hubbub of the harbour.

Sousuke bought it for me as a congratulatory present for my book.

And he helped me put it on in the bedroom before we left, his long fingers treating me with such tenderness as I have not known him to possess before.

There is a white slip I have to wear underneath the robe, along with my usual undergarments, so the silken fabric will not cling to my skin and display certain features my lord would rather save for his own, solitary pleasure.

The robe has a short collar and a v-shaped neckline in front, exposing a hint of my collarbones. The silk material is of a pale jade hue, slightly duller than the color of my eyes, but it sets them off perfectly.

After I was dressed, I gazed at my reflection, marvelling at the beauty of my apparel, as he stood behind me, watching keenly, his hands resting against either side of my waist.

The open-fronted robe has no buttons, and is held together by a thin leather belt set with dull pinkish topaz stones. Sousuke fastened it around my abdomen, kissing me as he held me close afterwards.

The border and loose sleeves are embroidered with a miniature, delicate pattern of light pink and mauve chrysanthemums. I spun around in front of the long mirror in the bedroom, a little clumsily, his arms still around me, admiring the way the flowers shone and shimmered in the dim sunlight.

 

He wears a dark grey shirt with a sable vest and straight pants.

He takes my right arm as we leave the house, with Nagisa holding on to my free hand.

In the coach, he kisses me briefly while Nagisa is distracted by the scenery outside.

His body is warm and solid against me, and I let myself lean against it, let it support me.

 

 

********

 

                                                    

The little tea place that Rin and his wife have invited us to is anything but little.

The coach stops outside a rather modern and grand-looking building, with high glass windows opening out onto the street. The sloping rooftop is constructed of some metal alloy instead of wood, and the gilt on its edges is still gaudily fresh.

Evening is waning into night, and the inside of the tea parlour is lit up with golden light emanating from shimmering crystal chandeliers, festooned with gilt flower décor.

Everything reeks of wealth and status and self-importance.

Sousuke offers me his arm again as we go inside, Nagisa running on ahead, too excited by the spectacle in front of him to care much for decorum.

 

Rin and his wife- her name is Kaoru, and she is a lovely woman with silvery curls and pristine blue eyes like a china doll’s- are already seated at a round table, waiting for us.

Suddenly, I feel like an impostor.

I feel as if every eye in the vast parlour is turning towards me, questioning my presence, and it becomes very hard to breathe.

I clutch at Sousuke, trying to convey the rising panic inside my chest without having to scream.

Everything around me is so delicate and beautiful and clean.

I feel like I will trample upon the peace of this place if I remain here another moment.

 

And then I hear Nagisa running up to Kaoru and bowing before Rin- excited, overjoyed, happy.

How can I let my weakness rob him of his joy?

Sousuke is looking at me with raised eyebrows.

He can sense that something is wrong, silently asking me if I want to leave.

With some effort, I smile at him.

I think of being in a faraway place, and leaving my body behind.

 

_I am mist drifting through the woods at dawn._

_I am rain falling into the sea._

_I am breath in his lungs, giving him life._

 

I barely hear the conversation.

I must come off as a distracted, silly person.

Rin and Kaoru know who I am, what I am.

Rin avoids my eyes, and doesn’t really talk to me, speaking mostly to Sousuke about their mutual past.

Kaoru asks me a few polite questions about what kind of tea I like, what sort of books I read, compliments my poetry, and lets me be.

 

They have a shared history, these three people sitting at the table with me. A history I cannot lay any claim to, though I witnessed scattered bits and pieces of it.

Nagisa has a sparkling, hopeful life opening up before him. And he’ll get to keep all the memories of moments like this one, safe and sound, untouched by the need for forgetfulness. Of that I’ll make sure, no matter what it takes.

 

I can barely taste the sweetness of the cakes in my mouth.

The tea is bitter and unpleasantly lukewarm.

I want my lord to hold my hand under the table, but he is talking to Rin and Nagisa animatedly, and enjoying his tea.

A pair of blue eyes keeps watching me.

The color is too light for them to be Haru’s, but they unnerve me all the same.

When I look at Kaoru, she smiles at me with pity and sorrow seeping through the delicate curve of her upturned mouth.

I look away quickly, my limbs starting to tremble, my vision a little blurry.

_These watching eyes, these glittering people- they will find me out and tear off my borrowed clothing, and see me for what I truly I am._

_And there will be nowhere to run to._

 

“Sousuke, I think Makoto needs a breath of fresh air, don’t you? It’s so stuffy in this place, I could use a walk outside as well. Why don’t we get going now?” Kaoru’s keen eyes suddenly take on a lighter air, as she tugs at Rin’s sleeve, urging him to get up.

Rin and Nagisa seem disappointed at having to leave so soon, but Sousuke turns his attention to me, his eyes full of concern.

 

_This is not what I want._

_I do not want him to look at me this way._

_I want him to…_

_I don’t know what I want anymore._

 

He takes me by the arm and in a few minutes, we are on our way back.

Nagisa looks disappointed at having his evening cut short, but when he glances over at me, his expression changes to one of worry.

I smile at him as best I can. I blame my dizziness and trembling on the richness of the cakes, and the heavy, perfumed air of the tea parlour.

I have always been good at lying.

 

Takano shows Nagisa his newly furnished room, next to the one I share with Sousuke.

Sousuke takes me to his bedroom, helps me undress, and holds me in his arms as I tremble uncontrollably, exposed and naked.

He says nothing, he asks nothing, and for that I am grateful.

He half-carries me to the bath in the adjacent chamber, which has already been filled with hot water. He takes off his own clothes, and embraces me in the water. I lean back against his chest and let his hands run all over my body, soothing me.

He caters to me as if I am a helpless infant, dries me off, helps me dress again in one of his warmer sleeping gowns. Dark blue, imbued with his scent.

I feel at ease when he takes me back to bed. I curl up against him, rest my head in his lap, and feel like I am whole. He covers us both up with a light blanket, and holds me close.

 

“If something bothers you, you have to tell me Makoto. How am I supposed to take care of you if you will not share your worries with me?” He soothes my hair, speaking in whispers.

“I…I didn’t want to ruin the evening. Your friends…We were their guests. I couldn’t make a scene in that crowded place, could I?”

“You are more important to me than an evening out, or anything else for that matter, Makoto. I don’t want you hurting yourself to keep me and Nagisa at ease.”

“But I…”

“I want you to really truly understand that I love you, Makoto. I love you most in the world. There is no life for me without you in it. Do you see that? Do you believe me?”

“I…I don’t know. I want to…I really want to…”

 

I know this is not what he wants to hear.

He will be angry with me now, though he will not show it.

He will turn away now, pretend he is tired, and fall asleep with his back to me.

 

But he leans down and kisses my forehead.

 

“Good. If you want to believe me, then I can keep trying. I will win you back, Makoto. I have all the time in the world to make you mine again. Properly. Truly.”

He kisses me on the lips this time, and lies down next to me, his breath in my face, his finger intertwined with mine.

 

_Then tell me what Haru said to you._

_Tell me what the two of you are trying to protect me from this time._

_Tell me who hurt you, who sent you the letter that has upset you._

_Tell me when we will go back to where we began- that haunted, forsaken place that was my heaven and my hell._

_Tell me how to love you without hating myself._

_Tell me everything._

 

But the night is heavy, and the room is dark, and my lips still burn with his kiss.

So I say nothing.

I rest my head on his chest now, listening to his steady breathing, the surety of his beating heart.

 

I used to be afraid of falling asleep.

Closing my eyes meant losing control of my surroundings, exposing myself to the leering eyes and sharpened claws that always lurk in the darkness, always surrounding me.

 

I am not sure if it is different now, if I am different now.

But it is true that when I lay next to Sousuke, or Haru, I feel like nothing that means me harm can touch me. Not as long as I can sense their warmth next to me, hearing them breathing softly in their sleep.

My nightmares are not what I fear anymore.

 

But it does not mean that I have stopped being afraid.


	49. Seadeep Secrets, Bonedeep Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Sousuke POV chapter.  
> A new character drops by.  
> More background about Sousuke's family, and a few secrets are revealed. 
> 
> This tired, old story is getting closer to its end now.

 

 

 

He slept restlessly again, whimpering against my chest.

He looks pale now, dark shadows under his dream-heavy eyes. He sits across from me at the breakfast table, playing with a teaspoon, refusing to eat anything, a smile playing faintly across his lips when he catches my eye.

He doesn’t scream in his sleep anymore, doesn’t wake up thrashing under the sheets.

Should I consider than an improvement?

Or is it simply that he is getting better at keeping his secrets locked away?

The moment of closeness between us ended as swiftly as it alighted- a broken-winged bird seeking refuge on a bare-branched tree, only to be buffeted away by the wintery winds.

And that was just another illusion I drew up around him like veil.

For so long, I have refused to see him for who he is.

I have loved nothing more than his shadow.

I have no right to his secrets.

Not yet.

 

And then there is the letter from my brother.

Yashiro, Duke Yamazaki’s true heir, the golden son, the one who did everything right, the measure against which all my flaws were weighed out and punished.

Or at least that is what our worthless father told the world after he found me with my cock up another boy’s ass.

I think he hates Yashiro more than he hates me. I think Duke Yamazaki resents me for not pushing my brother out of the way, and claiming the inheritance for myself. Hates that I would sooner hole myself away in a dark corner of his petty empire, than slit my own brother’s throat open in a bid to rule to it.

Because until our black-hearted, fiend of a father almost beat me to death for fucking a stable-boy, I was his most prized possession. The mirror in which he saw his own youth reflected, along with his cruelty and his coldness.

He never knew it was a mask I had crafted carefully, paying attention to every last detail, emulating the most heartless man in my life, to hide away my weakness, my heartbreak, my unnatural propensity for other men’s cocks and assholes.

Yashiro was the weakling, the simpering idiot of a son no one asked for- not my mother, nor my father. Yet he was the eldest, and the estate would be his. I still remember my father’s whip leaving Yashiro’s back bloody because he’d brought home a stray kitten to shelter it from the rain. Yashiro was only 10 then, and I was 9. I remember my father’s face, red with anger, dripping sweat, his eyes bulging, threatening to explode out of their orbs. I still do not understand why such a simple, harmless act angered my father so. Maybe he simply did not understand the need to save someone weaker, more vulnerable than yourself.

I remember how my father yelled my name as an example for Yashiro to follow- I, who even at 9, was more interested in hunting foxes than sheltering kittens. Who never cried, however hard I fell, or was beaten. Unlike poor Yashiro, crumbling apart at every insult, his face slimy with snot and his eyes puffed up with tears he’d cried for a small kitten he could not save.

After my father was done, no one came to Yashiro’s help.

Takano hurried me away from the displeasing sight, and my mother sulked in her room, refusing to interfere in a matter between father and son.

I don’t know who took care of Yashiro’s bleeding back.

I don’t remember what happened to that kitten.

Knowing our father, nothing good.

 

He’d fallen in love with Gou then- so obviously and pathetically, following her around like a dog- when I was supposed to be marrying her.

Weak as he was, with his heavy glasses and his skinny limbs, I think our father was sure Yashiro would not live past 20. That I would survive him, marry the Matsuoka girl, and carry on the Yamazaki name.

Yashiro was left to his own devices. Reading his books, teaching himself to play piano in the attic, finding small animals-lost and hurt- to look after.

He should have resented me. He should have hated me.

I would have, if I were him.

But he only ever loved me and looked after me.

And I never trusted him. I never believed that he did not have a knife hidden behind his back, thirsting for my throat.

 

And now he writes me with venom in his pen. For what else would inspire such a thing?

Has Yashiro finally learned how to hate? Has he at long last found the bitter cold buried at the core of every Yamazaki?

Why else would he burden me with this…this cruel responsibility?

Why would Yashiro try to drag me back to hell when I’ve only crawled out of its gaping maw, if he did not hate me?

Yet I keep reading the words again and again, unable to throw away the piece of parchment that bears them.

 

 

I need to free my mind, if only for a little while.

I can feel the frown on my forehead, and I can see Makoto’s eyes watching me carefully.

But when I look at him, he shies away from my gaze.

Is it right to keep this a secret from him?

He should know, shouldn’t he?

But I do not want to weigh him down with such burdens as are mine to bear.

He needs only to let me love him.

Then why does he still look like his heart is breaking?

 

I reach for his hand across the table, and he looks at me again.

He smiles at me then.

A soft curving of his petal lips.  Not strained, as it used to be. But it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, either. He lowers his lashes, as if to hide away the sorrow haunting his green irises.

“Makoto…”

I like to say his name out loud- tasting every syllable, hoping that if I repeat it enough times, it will wash away the past.

He walks over to me, smiling still, and kneels in front of me.

He rests his head on my knee, and sighs as I run my fingers through his hair.

 

Silence between us now, stretching out as vast as the blue sky above us.

Silence and secrets and the pretense of love.

Is that all I am to him now?

After everything, everything- is he still not mine?

 

As if he’s heard the questions I cannot ask, his face turns up to mine.

A look on it I have not seen in a long time.

Chest heaving, exposed partly through the dark blue robe he’s wearing- one of mine he has laid claim to and loves sleeping in.

Already on his knees, he pushes mine apart, going to work with steady fingers.

“Makoto…Not here…What if someone…”

“Nagisa and Takano went to see Rei. The door is locked. No one here but us two. Let me taste you. Please, Sousuke…”

Impossible to resist this man. Impossible not to want him, need him, with everything I have.

He takes me in his mouth, slick tongue curving across the head of my cock.

In the quiet room, all I can hear is the wet sound of his mouth and my own ragged breathing.

My fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him down, even when he tries to break away and catch his breath.

Such unmatched skill.

All the cocks he’s sucked before mine.

Will my desire for him never be free of this envious rage against the faceless men who have fucked him before me?

Yet this is the man I am in love with.

I would have no other mouth but his.

I would give my heart to no one else but Makoto, with his skilled lust, and his used-up limbs. Makoto, who cries in his sleep and looks at me with such pure eyes that would shame the wings off any angel, making white feathers flutter to the ground like snowflakes. To fester there, and die, and dissolve into the earth. To grow out of the ground in petals of ivory and purple, wild in the wind, to fall at the feet of my love, to be his grace- heaven’s penance for letting such purity become tainted with mortal corruption, and the filth of lesser men.

 

Here I go again, turning him into an idol to worship, as I cum on his face.

Such contradictions in this love of ours.

He licks his lips and tilts his head, reaching out his hand to me, asking me to lift him up.

“Clean up the mess you’ve made first, Makoto.” The coarseness of my own voice surprises me.

His eyes widen for a second, before he smiles- a different sort of smile now, eyelids heavy, lips slack- and licks my cock clean.

 

He rises on his own, adjusting the folds of his robe.  

I suddenly remember what Haru told me- about the bleeding boy and the monster with his sword- and I am overcome with the need to hold Makoto in my arms, to make him safe.

To make believe that I can keep him safe.

I reach for his hand, trying to pull him into my lap, to kiss him, take him to bed.

But he turns his back to me, twisting his hand free of my grasp.

He turns to look at me as he leaves the parlour, and our eyes meet.

_“Stay with me, Makoto…”_

_“Only if you stop trying to buy me with trinkets and tea parties, my lord.”_

 

No words pass through the silence that lingers between us, but we both understand each other perfectly.

He does not want robes of silk, or to be shown off like a china doll- an empty, smiling husk, playing the part of a coy mistress for the pleasure of vulgar men like me.

No, he is not for me to own.

Nor for anyone else.

Not to be won over, or wooed, or claimed.

All of that belongs to another life, to someone else.

Not his, not mine- such simple gestures of love are not for us.

No concern of ours.

 

 

Makoto stays in bed all morning, feigning a headache, sulking like a spoiled child.

I stay by his side, reading to him in a soft voice stories that he likes to read to Nagisa, to cheer him up.

I win a few smiles from him, and in the afternoon, he suggests going out for lunch, as Takano and Nagisa are still visiting with Rei and Haru.

The same little café I took him to a few weeks ago, trying to get him to fall in love with me again.

Not that I think he ever stopped loving me.

Or I him.

This should be simple, shouldn’t it?

 

 

He dresses simply, in a white tunic he has bought with his own money, and straight-legged khaki pants. Lacing up his favorite boots of dark brown leather, he looks up at me, as if asking for approval.

I grab him by the waist, lift him up, pull him closer, and kiss his lips.

He blushes, resting his head against my shoulder for a moment, quietly suggesting that we should walk to _The Lucky Kitsune_ instead of taking the carriage.

His fingers curl with mine, self-assured and possessive, as he leads me down the street.

The sunshine suits him, and he walks one step ahead of me, his hand still caught up in mine.

Two grown men holding hands as if they’re newlyweds. But it isn’t so unusual to see such a sight as this in the city, what with all the student poets wooing each other all over the University.

We get a few pointed looks, but we both choose to ignore them.

We pass by a little girl selling flowers, and Makoto stops to admire the blossoms, picking up a white carnation, paying more for it than it is worth- but who am I to say what the worth of a flower is?

He twirls it around in his fingers, and smiles at me.

I take the flower from him, and tuck it behind his ear.

He laughs at my silly gesture, but keeps the flower in his hair, smiling to himself as he walks beside me.

 

Makoto orders coffee, with extra cream and sugar, for himself. Along with scones, and a few pastries. All sweetness. All smiles.

He laughs away my concern at not having a proper lunch.

It is pleasing to watch him eat his favorite things, feeling at ease with the laid-back crowd composed mostly of students and commoners.

A sense of relief washes over me as I sip a glass of cheap, watered-down wine, having finished the generous serving of pork cutlets on my plate.

Makoto pauses between bites to smile at me, eyes closed, head tilting to the side. Such a pretty smile. How did I never notice it all those years ago? I wonder how many times I will ask myself this question, heart brimming over with the guilt of not saving him in time.

But was he ever mine to save?

The flower in his hair nods as if falling asleep in the warm drowsiness of the café.

Under the table, his legs rests against mine, nudging my knees caressingly.

But I know he is still unhappy with me, because he will not talk to me.

 

“Makoto? How good to see you!” The voice is gentle, but it manages to shatter the peace between us.

“Nao?” Makoto looks up at the man, who has soft, silvery hair touching his shoulders, and gentle eyes- a shade of green slightly duller than Makoto’s.

I know the name. He is Makoto’s publisher. I have met him perfunctorily at the party before, and never given him much thought since.

He looks kind and innocuous, and he has been good to Makoto.

I offer him a smile and a nod, which he returns with reserved hesitation.

 

“Is this the famed Makoto Tachibana, then? You never mentioned he was such a beauty, Nao. You’ve been hiding him from me, haven’t you?” The man standing next to Nao is smirking at Makoto, as if he’s spotted a particularly tasty bit of meat.

I know this look, and I do not like it.

“Oh right, this is um, Natsuya Kirishima. Natsuya and Makoto, you already know each other. At least, um, in print. And this is Makoto’s _companion_ , Sousuke Yamazaki.” Nao’s smile looks strained as he makes the introductions, emphasizing Makoto’s relationship with me.

I am surprised to see Makoto’s eyes glinting coldly at the newcomer. He never shows such obvious disdain for anyone.

“Of course I know him, Nao. I vividly remember his generous review of my book. What was it that you called me? _A gaudy peddler of cheap trinkets disguised as poetry_?” Makoto smiles like an unsheathed blade, ready to slice through whoever this Natsuya is.

“Now, now, Makoto. How was I to know those words were written by someone as charming and captivating as yourself? It’s really Nao’s fault for not telling me you had such lovely eyes, and lips like roses in the spring.” Natsuya’s eyes are fixed on Makoto, as if he cannot see anyone else.

Despite himself, Makoto’s cheeks turn pink at Natsuya’s cloyingly sweet words.

“Oh, have I made you blush? You look even prettier than before. I’ll have to retract my review of your poems now. Now that I’ve seen the slender fingers that penned such delicate words. You’re a lucky man, Sousuke.” Natsuya turns to me, mockingly tipping his hat in my direction.

“That I am.” I have no idea how I manage to smile when all I want is to strangle this man.

Nao looks even more agitated than I do. His face is pale, and he keeps shuffling his feet. His eyes sparkle a little too brightly, as if he has a fever.

“So you’d judge a book by its cover, and a poet by his looks? I’d rather you keep your false praise to yourself. I’ve read your essays, and your poetry too. I would never have guessed such a smooth-talking man could write such rigid, harsh words.” Makoto regains his composure, and flashes a smile at Natsuya which is at once cruel and beautiful.

If this man wasn’t in love before, he has surely fallen now.

I find myself smiling at Makoto, enjoying this side of him, blazing with confidence and frigid fury.

This two-bit poet and critic can try to charm Makoto all he wants. The heart that is already in my keeping cannot become his so easily.

 

“Now, now, let’s be friends, Makoto. But I suppose I’m being rude, so I’ll let you two enjoy your lunch. Come Nao, stop sulking, I’ll treat you to that lavender and honey cake you like so much.” Natsuya places a comforting arm around Nao’s shoulder to lead him away, which is unceremoniously jerked off by the other man.

“It’s a pity, really. Those two…” Makoto clucks his tongue at the retreating backs of the disgruntled pair, not elaborating his thoughts.

He orders a fresh cup of coffee, and goes back to enjoying a small chocolate torte, nibbling on it carefully with his front teeth.

 

We walk back home slowly, taking the longer path that leads past the harbour.

The clamor of ships and sailors casts a spell on Makoto.

We sit by the docks, watching, waiting, for nothing and no one.

All in silence.

 

Evening is falling when Makoto finally stands up, dusts off his clothes, and reaches for my hand.

As we walk home, he leans closer to me, as if asking for support.

I hold him by the waist, matching his step, falling into his rhythm.

 

“A sailor once promised to take me away with him. Since then, I’ve dreamed of sailing into the sunset. Or something silly of the sort.He told me of a place where time is measured differently. _Land of the midnight sun_ , he called it.” Makoto’s voice is barely distinguishable from the wind rushing in over the sea.

I am not sure if I want to hear more, but Makoto keeps on fumbling with half-measured words.

“I wondered if I’d be happier in another place. Or asleep at the bottom of the sea, my hair grown long, reaching up to the sun like ghostly branches. I didn’t wish myself dead, if that’s what you’re thinking. I never had enough courage to face death. All I wanted was to fall asleep- a dreamless sleep, seadeep and longer than life…And I would have, if it weren’t for…”

He stops as his words falter, looking out at the setting sun.

He breaks away then, and walks ahead of me.

 

“Would you hate me if I said this life isn’t what I want? None of it. Would you push me away then?”  He turns his head to sky, breathing in the sea.

 

By the time we get home, hands no longer held, the lights have been put out.

Takano is waiting by the door, Nagisa still at Haru’s, having decided to stay with Rei.

Makoto smiles at Takano and kisses his cheek before going upstairs.

The old man’s eyes shine with suppressed emotion as he pats my shoulder, and goes out. Mah-jongg night, I suppose.

 

Makoto is already in bed, undressed, legs spread apart. An apology for the words he’s spoken to me by the sea, with the ships leaving, and sun setting.

I turn away from him, and pour myself a glass of red.

When I take him in my arms, he whimpers like a lost child.

I kiss him with wine in my mouth, making him drink it down.

He trembles and lowers his gaze, not looking at me.

My hand finds his hardness. My thumb grazes the tip of cock, his slit slick with desire. He whines and grabs onto the front of my shirt, closing his eyes, breathing unsteadily.

After I’ve stained my fingers with his cum, he goes limp, his grip on me loosening a little.

I lift his head to kiss him again. He barely parts his lips to let me in, moaning weakly as I hold his mouth open with my thumb, and make him taste the stickiness coating it. He grabs my hand and starts sucking- my thumb first, then the rest.

When my fingers enter him, two at once, he moans again and lets go of me, throwing his head back- lost to the world, swept away in my lust for him.

As I open him up, he lifts himself up to kiss me, arms around my neck, tears in his eyes.

I cannot wait any longer. I undress as I watch him playing with the dark, hard nubs on his chest.

Then he turns on all fours in anticipation, his entrance gaping pink in front of me, his cock hard and dripping again.

But this is not how I want him. Sitting down on the bed, I grab his hips and turn him around to face me. He straddles my thighs, lowering himself carefully on top of my erection. I seal his lips with a kiss, and he whimpers into my mouth. Holding his slim hips still, I thrust into him, wearing us both out.

He tries to pull away when he feels my cock ready to surge inside him, but I hold him in place. He cums as I fill him up, slumping against my chest.

 

When he comes back to me, from the place he always hides away in after we join our bodies together, he sighs, and turns toward me.

His lips are still glistening from the kisses we have shared.

His eyes search mine, looking for something to tie himself to, I think.

A secret, a story, or maybe a prayer.

 

 

“That letter, it was from Yashiro. My brother. You remember him?”

“Mmmm. Yes, he used to bring me sweets sometimes.”

“That sounds like him, yes. Makoto, I don’t think we talked about what happened after…”

“No, we never did.”

 

And so I tell him everything.

My father disinheriting me.

My mother leaving.

And now Yashiro’s letter, letting me know that even though my dear father will have nothing to do with me, his name is still mine. As is that castle. That dark place, furtive with secrets and bone-gnawing rats.

All mine.

To die in, to rot and crumble to dust.

 

I tell Makoto everything. Everything but the monster with his sword hilt and the boy who was and was not Makoto in a bed of blood.

That can wait.

That is a story for another night.

 

Makoto rises slowly, letting the stained sheets fall away from his nakedness.

He beckons me with a lazy hand, and fills the bathtub with hot water, walking around the empty house without bothering to cover himself up.

Such grace and ease, even with my cum flowing out of him, tarnishing the pale flesh of his inner thighs.

He washes my hair, and rubs oil on my aching shoulder, its half-healed flesh strained by our lovemaking.

He lowers himself delicately into the water, his tall frame appearing as light as a waterlily floating on the surface of a still lake.

The song he hums under his breath is somewhere in my memory, the words hiding in shadows, but the tune still familiar.

Leaning against my chest, he lets me hold him, lets me run my hands languidly along the length of his torso.

 

The sea parts, opening up a momentary path.

Beyond the waves, threatening to break and engulf us, I can see a distant city glimmering in the rising sun.

Domes of gold, and turrets of jade.

A place where time is measured differently.

A place where memory can be tucked away for a while, in secret caverns under the sun-warmed sands.

Where he can be with me without remembering.

Where I can be with him without forgetting.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	50. Under the Shadow of the Summer Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long left until the end now.  
> This is a Haru POV chapter.

The wind carries the scent of brine-soaked wooden planks, of saffron, of rose oil, and tar.

It echoes with the chattering of sailors, the cries of seagulls. 

Such cacophony disrupts my thoughts, distracts me.

It is exactly what I need right now.

 

Every time I close my eyes, I see the boy’s bleeding, broken body. At night, I dream that my hands trembled so badly that I could not help him. That I could only watch him die.

And in death, Nasser becomes Makoto.

Green eyes flash at me, full of helpless tears.

And I can do nothing to ease his pain.

Not one thing.

I stand by as the light flickers out of them, and they become still as glass marbles.

I don’t scream when I wake up.

I just feel like I am drowning, and have no will left in my limbs to struggle against the crushing weight of the water.

 

So I come here in the morning now, armed with a sketchbook- a present from Rei and Nagisa. To cheer me up, they said, not quite meeting my eye.

 

Makoto has been gone for too long, and I was to see him more than anything else.

Yet I cannot bring myself to face him.

If I see him now, I will want to touch the skin against his heart, and make sure it is still beating.

I will want to kiss his forehead to feel its warmth.

I will want to hold his hand as I fall asleep.

I will want to save him.

Though I know he has already saved himself, and that I was always too late anyway.

I wonder if Yamazaki feels the same way.

 

As I trace rough lines with a piece of charcoal onto the thick parchment of the sketchbook, a skeletal ship begins to take shape on paper.

Makoto likes to talk about the places he would have gone to, the lives he would have lived, had things been different.

Whenever his nightmares kept him awake, we would sit in bed side by side, pretending that we’d met when we were still children, and lived close to each other in a little town overlooking a vast, crystal blue ocean.

_Blue as your eyes Haru,_ he’d tell me with a smile.

That our lives were simple and quiet, and our mothers let us play together in the sand, smiling at us from a distance, their love for us as sure as the sun shining in the sky above.

As long as Makoto stayed with me, it became a habit, and every night before we went to sleep, we’d add another chapter to our story. It made Makoto happy. It made him laugh.

 

I miss the sound of his voice, the gentle way his fingers entwined with mine even while he slept.

But I could not protect him from the truth of his life, already lived, long before we met.

The made-up fantasy of a life we’ve never had couldn’t have save him.

 

So I pushed him away, wanting to live in that dream world by myself. Where I could reshape his memories and relive his life for him. Keep him pure, keep him safe, keep him tethered only to me.

Selfish and cowardly.

Just like Yamazaki.

 

The sound of crashing waves and clamoring sailors threatens to fade as the swirling echoes of my mind drag me back inside the swirling madness of my soul.

Caught up in this struggle, I miss his soft footfall as he walks up to me and sits down in the sand beside me.

 

“Nagisa said I’d find you here.”

He is smiling that infuriating smile of his, which deceives me into thinking that everything is in its right place.

I nod to acknowledge his presence, keeping up the pretense of sketching, darkening the white parchment with misshapen, ghostly shadows of ships.

“If you tell me what I’ve done to upset you Haru, I could fix it.” His voice is barely audible, yet it makes every muscle in my body seize up, freezing the blood in my veins.

“It’s not…You haven’t done anything wrong Makoto. I’m not…”

“Then why won’t you look at me? Why haven’t you come to see me? I miss you, Haru.”

 

I have been selfish. I have been lying to myself.

It isn’t Makoto I want to protect, but my own shrivelled up heart.

I am the one who pushed him away.

I am the one at fault.

And yet…

 

I put down the sketchbook and my sharpened piece of charcoal, leaving my fingertips ashen and raw.

Carefully, one at a time, I entwine my fingers with Makoto’s.

Lifting my gaze slowly, as though I am looking into the blinding heart of the summer sun, I let our eyes meet.

He full lips curl into a pleased smile, his eyes close up like folded petals.

He sighs deeply before opening them again, and squeezes my hand with his own.

He is wearing a white collarless robe, the open front of it held together by a broad silk ribbon in green. The fabric of the robe is thin and light, yet summer’s heat still makes it cling to Makoto’s body with sweat.

His cheeks are flushed, and he is holding a dandelion in his free hand. He must have plucked it on his way here. He always has an eyes for the beauty in simpler things.  

 

“You shouldn’t walk around like this, without a coat or anything.” I feel suddenly protective of his exposed skin, of the narrow dip between his collarbones, where beads of sweat glisten like crystals.

“It’s midsummer, Haru. And early afternoon. Why would I need a coat?” He laughs at my concern, tightening his grip on my hand.

“The nights get chilly, and you have a tendency to wander around until after dark. Besides, you catch colds easily.” I cannot help but smile at having him by my side once again.

 

This is where he belongs.

This is where he should stay.

Even as I fight it, the urge to possess him rises up in my chest.

I feel helpless when I am with Makoto.

As if my mind, my heart, my soul- they aren’t entirely mine anymore.

They sway towards him- sunflowers bending to trace the path of the Sun across the sky.

 

  
“Does _he_ know you’re here?” I look away from him again, though his hand is still held in mine.

“You mean Sousuke? Yes, he knows Haru.”

“So he allowed you to come see me?”

He pauses, and rests his head on my shoulder.

“I didn’t ask for his permission Haru. He doesn’t own me. Not anymore…”

 

I am ashamed of myself for making Makoto speak of such things. But I must know. I have to know how much control Yamazaki has over him still.

 

“I’m sorry Makoto.”

“It’s fine Haru.”

 

The wind picks up suddenly, rustling through our hair, making the hem of Makoto’s robe float up around us like seafoam.

He laughs like a child, freeing his hand to hold the fluttering white fabric in place.

Seeing him like this makes me believe that in some life, somewhere, the two of us somehow managed to grow up together, side by side, free of this misery that keeps threatening to drown us.

 

He turns towards me, and takes my face in both hands. The dandelion brushes lightly against my cheek, but gentler still is the touch of Makoto’s lips on my forehead.

And I cannot help myself.

Clinging to the front of his robe, I pull him closer, like a child silently seeking his mother’s affection.

His mouth tastes the same as it did the last time we kissed.

 

We sit side by side, watching the ships.

Somehow, piecing together broken thoughts and blunted words, I tell him about the bleeding boy in the brothel.

About my wild, nomad mother.

And my love for him- always, always waiting.

With the setting sun, and Makoto’s head resting on my shoulder once more, my burning mouth spills secrets I do not even remember having.  

 

He says nothing at all.

Just sits by my side, listening, holding my hand.

 

Then he brings the little dandelion up to his lips.

“Make a wish, Haru. I’ll make one too.”

Closing his eyes, he waits.

And the little feathery white bits of the dandelion flutter away, carried off to sea, over the edge of the world.

 

“A flower’s life for a wish that will never come true.” He smiles sadly, his irises reflecting the scarlet and indigo stains of the dying sun.

“It’ll grow again, Makoto. The scattered white will blossom into yellow.”

“Maybe across the sea, Haru? Far away from here? Maybe two of them will find a way to grow side by side in a distant place. And two boys in a little town by the ocean will pluck them, and wish on them.”

“Maybe…”

 

******

 

 

We walk together, hands held tight.

Night is falling, uncomfortably humid.

Makoto’s robe clings closely to his body.

The city is crowded with people dressed in whites and yellows and greens, making their way to the temple of the silver-faced godling. Qamaris of the solstice moon- herald of summer harvests, protector of unwed, unsullied maidens, and of sweet little children with mothers and fathers who love them.

 

And of whores, too. Though no one says that out loud.

They flock to the godling’s alter after the maidens and the children sleep safely in clean beds. Midnight strikes, and they come out of the brothels in ghostly hosts, as if the city is dreaming them. In their hands, they hold mud lanterns half-filled with oil, with handmade wicks of cotton lit up to guide their way through the dark streets.

The whores wear robes of white, the fronts tied with red ribbons, the hems stained with wine.

The leave their little lanterns by the altar, already sprawling with hosts of summer roses and perfumed oils, returning as quietly as they arrived.

Silent offerings for a silver-faced deity who is deaf to their prayers.

I wonder if Makoto ever left a lantern, said a prayer, waited for it to be heard.

 

I hold Makoto’s hand tightly as I steer him through the overflowing streets.

In the heart of the city, vendors have set up stalls.

Around the temple of Qamaris, the crowd thickens and it becomes harder to breathe.

We hear Nagisa’s voice before we see him, fussing about sweets.

It is Yamazaki who beckons to us first, holding Nagisa’s hand, looking nervously at Rei who has wandered off to one of the stalls to buy cotton candy for his friend.

I would rather have taken Makoto home with me, but he insisted on coming here.

He planned this little outing with Nagisa, insistent on spending the summer solstice with all of us.

 

As we approach him, I can see Yamazaki’s cold eyes flicker briefly towards our held hands, but he says nothing.

He offers me a perfunctory smile, and takes Makoto’s free hand in his, pulling him closer for an unabashed kiss on the cheek.

Makoto’s face reddens, caught between the two men who love him.

 

Impressed by Yamazaki’s gesture, Nagisa insists on repeating it, and both Makoto and I are obliged to bend down so he can mark our cheeks with lips already sticky with some sort of sugary concoction he has eaten before we arrived.

Makoto uses this opportunity to break free, and lifts up Nagisa in his arms. The two of them soon become engrossed in talking about the sorts of sweets they would like to sample, and laughing together over whispered jokes.

Rei returns with two small clouds of pink cotton candy twisted around small bamboo sticks- one in each hand.

Nagisa grabs for both, but Rei holds one back, offering it Makoto with a nervous smile.

For a second, I feel like Makoto will cry.

But he smiles and accepts the little sugary offering, and thanks Rei with a kiss on the cheek, making the boy blush until he is as pink as the gift he’s brought.

Yamazaki and I happen to catch each other’s eyes, sharing our approval of the pretty scene before us.

An unlikely sort of camaraderie falls into place between us, then.

Something I am not sure I am comfortable with, really.

But inevitable, I suppose, given the situation.

 

We make our way through the onslaught of sweaty, perfumed bodies dressed in clothes that are a little too revealing in some cases.

If I were Yamazaki, I would cover Makoto up with my coat.

But he seems to be enjoying the way Makoto’s hips swinging in front of us, the nearly see-through white robe clinging to his curves- in certain places Makoto’s body is almost as voluptuous as most women’s.

We stop at a stall selling iced beverages of some sort, and Yamazaki insists on buying them for us.

 

It is only a moment, barely a blink of an eye.

When I look around after taking a sip of my overly sweet, too-blue drink, Nagisa is nowhere to be seen.

He must have run off to examine some brightly colored trinket at one of the stalls, or observe a sweetmeat on display. I am sure we will hear him calling to us soon enough, asking Makoto if he can waste his allowance on some useless thing.

But when I look at Makoto, his face is pale as death.

Already he looks frightened, helpless, tugging on Yamazaki’s shirtsleeve.

“He was right here, Sousuke. Where did he go? Haru, please we have to find Nagisa. Please help me find him!” The rising panic in Makoto’s voice scares Rei into frantic action.

He runs off ahead of us, disappearing from sight, shouting Nagisa’s name.

And Makoto follows after him.

 

Yamazaki swears under his breath, nods curtly at me, and the two of us surge ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of our lost boys through throngs of festival-goers.

All I can see is a host of strange faces, without a trace of familiarity amongst them.

It is overwhelming.

I become nauseous with anxiety and fear.

I feel like I will throw up if I don’t see Makoto and Nagisa right this moment.

 

Makoto’s voice cuts through the heavy air of the summer night like a dagger.

Yamazaki stops short and then runs towards it, leaving me to chase after him.

 

“Nagisa, come here. Right now.” The crowd around Makoto has thinned a little. Some of the passersby have stopped to watch him out of curiosity. His back is rigid, and his shoulders tensed up.

Ahead of me, Yamazaki draws a sharp breath and stops in his tracks, looking as if he’s seen a ghost.

 

Nagisa is standing next to a distinguished looking man, a noble from the way he is dressed most likely, with greying hair and a sturdy physique.

His face is seemingly normal- small eyes narrowed in disdain, a straight nose, high cheekbones hidden under sallow, ageing flesh.

In his youth he must have been rather handsome.

But when I look at him, I feel afraid, though everything about him is normal.

What curdles my blood is the way this man is looking at Makoto.

Like a vulture, his fangs already dripping with the blood and innards of a dead yearling.

And then I see the way this man is holding Nagisa’s hand in his, a little too tightly, restraining the boy.

 

“Now, now. There is no need for such haste. This charming little boy and I are just getting to know each other. Aren’t we, Nagisa?” The stranger’s voice sounds like an oil spill- sleek and deadly.

I can see the way Nagisa is struggling against the stranger’s grip to free himself, whimpering like a helpless little bird about to have its wings cruelly clipped.

 

“Let him go. I won’t let you…Not him.” Makoto’s voice is steady, his fists clenched.

The stranger merely laughs, and lets go of Nagisa.

 

I suspect the stranger only frees his prey because the scene has attracted several spectators by now. The stranger is flanked by 5 men, armed with broad blades and steel daggers. One of them nudges him and whispers something in his ear.

The stranger sneers at Makoto, and then his gaze settles on the tall figure of Yamazaki, who steps out of the shadows to stand beside his lover, his hand on Makoto’s left shoulder.

Nagisa runs towards Makoto, and lets himself be grasped tightly and hugged close to Makoto’s chest.

I take my place to Makoto’s right.

 

“Well, well. If it isn’t the disowned knight in his rusty armor. Are you going to have another try at stabbing me, Sousuke? Or have you learned your lesson like a good boy?”

Suddenly, the image of Nasser’s torn up body flashes before my eyes, and I know I am looking at the monster responsible for hurting him. For hurting Makoto.

I reach for Makoto blindly, and hold on to his arm as firmly as I can.

 

“What is he talking about Sousuke?” Still holding Nagisa close, Makoto turns to Yamazaki.

 

The stranger’s gaze seems to be violating Makoto’s exposed body, burning through the pure white of his clothes.

Then he turns his attention back to Sousuke, smiling a slick, close-mouthed smile.

“Oh, my dear Sousuke. Did you not tell your whore about your pathetic revenge scheme? Doesn’t he know how I skewered you with the blade of the same sword I used to fuck him with?”

 

The night becomes very still all of a sudden.

There is a chill in the air, and I stupidly start worrying about Makoto catching a cold.

 

“If you so much as look at him again, I’ll kill you.” Yamazaki steps between Makoto and the stranger, spreading out his arms.

Rei takes Nagisa away from Makoto, trying to calm down the weeping boy who cannot fully understand the kind of danger he was in a few moments ago.

 

The stranger laughs, low and bemused, shaking his head at Yamazaki.

“The Yamazakis never fail to provide me with new entertainment. I will see you again, Nagisa. Sooner than you think.” With another sickening grin and a small wave at Makoto, the stranger turns his back to us, and walks away.

 

Neither Yamazaki nor I notice Makoto until it is too late.

He flings himself at the stranger, with every ounce of strength in his body, and knocks him to the ground, straddling him.

Before the stranger’s 5 guards can pull him off their master, Makoto’s fingers wrap themselves around the man’s throat, choking him as hard as they can, making his beady eyes bulge.

Yamazaki is faster than the guards, and has Makoto in an iron grip before they can hurt him.

Makoto fights against Yamazaki’s arms, trying to free himself, trying to finish the job he started.

 

The stranger needs his guards’ help to stand back up.

His hair, neatly combed back before, is now all dishevelled.

His face is purple with rage, his mouth spouting the foulest language I have ever heard.

 

After he leaves, Makoto pushes Yamazaki away, and takes Nagisa back into his arms, lifting him up once more.

Rei offers him a steadying hand, and the three of them start walking away.

Makoto pauses, and turns back to look at me.

 

_Did you know, Haru? Did you know about this?_ His blank eyes seem to question his faith in me.

I can only look at him, unable to explain anything.

 

He turns his back to me then.

 

There is a sharp sound piercing the air.

Above us, fireworks blossom in the night sky like fiery dandelions dispersing into the sea.

The full moon shines on, bloated and dull.

 

We return to my house, not Yamazaki’s.

I suppose his offence is greater than mine.

Without a word to either of us, Makoto ascends the stairs with Nagisa and Rei.

Yamazaki collapses on a sofa, closing his eyes with a soft sigh.

I offer him some whisky, and he accepts.

There is nothing we can say to each other.

He finishes his drink and gets up to leave.

 

“I have spare rooms, if you wish to stay.” I surprise myself with this strange sense of hospitality.

Yamazaki stops in his tracks and peers at me hesitantly.

He smiles then, and shakes his head sadly.

“Takano will worry if I don’t get back tonight. Besides, Makoto is safe here. With you.”

The door closes softly behind him, shutting out the night.

 

 

******

 

Makoto is asleep next to Nagisa.

Rei is drowsing on a couch beside the bed.

I shake his shoulder gently, waking him up, and urging him to sleep in his own room.

He looks at me, slightly baffled, before his gaze returns to Nagisa’s slim frame wrapped up Makoto’s arms.

He shakes his head, and resumes his watch over the two of them.

 

I feel useless and afraid.

Sleep is impossible.

I retreat to my study, careful not to wake up Aiichiro, who always seems to have an ear for my movements, and often leaves steaming mugs of coffee on my table when he knows I am awake late at night.

I try to read- a dry old text on the cultivation of hothouse orchids- and fail.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I come to, I hear footsteps on the staircase.

It is still dark outside.

The moon hangs low in the sky.

I tiptoe outside my room, and catch a glimpse of Makoto just as he walks out of the front door.

 

White robe blossoming like a ghostly lily in the darkness, lit up by the dull yellow glow of a small lantern.

A red ribbon around his waist.

And the hem of his garment stained with wine- the faded tinge of dry blood.

 

I run after him, down the stairs and into the street.

But there is no sign of him.

The night swallows him up, into a world of darkness where I cannot follow him.

No matter how hard I wish.

No matter how many lives I live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qamaris is a made-up deity for this fic, related to the lunar cycle, and summer solstice.   
> I've had a lot fun coming up with new stuff for this fic's universe, but it is getting quite close to an ending now.


	51. Interlude: Intimate Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I haven't updated in ages.

_**Scene One: In the Gardens** _

 

Lord Sousuke had the servants lay out a plush white velveteen bedspread on the sun-warmed stones of the walkway in castle gardens. As evening fell and the air filled with the sweet perfume of summer flowers, Lord Sousuke led his unsuspecting lover to the chosen spot, and pushed him down onto the pristine white fabric of the velveteen bedspread.

"Ahhh...No, my Lord, what if someone sees us??" Makoto blushed as he fell back onto the bedspread, feeling the hard surface of the stone walkway underneath his back, and the hard cock of his Lord pressing against his own.

"Hmf hmf, Makoto. You worry too much, my sweet angel. Now hush your sweet mouth, and let me pleasure you." Lord Sousuke was not one to relent. He took his angel from behind, pounding into him with gusto.

Makoto found himself drowning in the hazy sweetness of the flowers around him, mixed with the musky scent of his lover.

Soon he was screaming out for more, proclaiming his love for Lord Sousuke over and over again, as his lover grunted his satisfaction.

They spent the night together in the garden, sexing it up under the stars.

In the morning, Sousuke carried Makoto off to their bedchamber for more sexytimes.

                         

                          

                  [Illustration 1(a): Lord Sousuke takes Makoto from behind]           [Illustration 1(b): Lord Sousuke pounds into Makoto some more]

 

* * *

  

_**Scene Two: In the Library**_      

 

Makoto loved to read, and often spent his time in the castle library, surrounded by volumes of poetry, angsty old romance novels, illustrated erotic manuscripts, a cup of tea, and a selection of macarons from the castle kitchens.

Lord Sousuke did not like it when Makoto wandered off by himself.

His superseme possessive hardcore nature made him super crazy jealous, and he chased off after Makoto, looking for him in every corner of the castle.

Lord Sousuke finally found Makoto in a quiet nook of the castle library, reading a steamy novel, and nibbling on a rose-flavored macaron.

He grabbed Makoto and forced his tongue into Makoto's mouth.

"Ahhh...No, my Lord, what if someone sees us??" Makoto protested, helpless and blossoming with desire in his Lord's strong arms. 

"Hmf hmf, Makoto. You worry too much, my sweet angel. Now hush your sweet mouth, and let me pleasure you." Sousuke pushed Makoto against a bookshelf and kissed him deeply.

"Ohhh my Lord, but what about my novel? The heroine was about to open her robes for the hero..." But Makoto's protests trailed off into moans of lustful pleasure as Lord Sousuke's tongue swirled around in his mouth. His Lord's kiss tasted sweeter than any dessert Makoto had ever eaten.

In the end, they made a compromise.

Makoto agreed not to read any books during sexytimes, and Lord Sousuke promised not to interrupt Makoto during reading time. 

                 

                                                                                         

[Illustration 2: Lord Sousuke disturbs Makoto in the library for a kiss]

 

* * *

 

 

_**Scene 3: In the North Tower** _

 

Makoto loved to explore the castle in his free time, when Lord Sousuke was busy with boring, political, castley things.

One day, he found himself in the North Tower. Looking through the window, he could see the rest of the castle. It was a lovely view, and Makoto lost himself in admiring it. He was so lost to his own imagination, thinking of other lords and ladies, and lords and lords, and ladies and ladies exploring their love-filled bodies in hidden places of the castle, that he didn't hear footsteps up the stairs.

Before he could collect himself, Lord Sousuke's hands were inside his pants, stroking his manhood.

"Ahhh...No, my Lord, what if someone sees us??" Makoto tried to push his Lord away, at the same time craving his strong fingers. 

"Hmf hmf, Makoto. You worry too much, my sweet angel. Now hush your sweet mouth, and let me pleasure you." Lord Sousuke pulled down Makoto's pants and started slurping up his lover's rock-hard, precum-dripping thingie.

Makoto felt weak in the knees, moaning with desire and lust and pleasure.

"Ohhh, my Lord, I feel like I'm melting right into your mouth. Just like a macaron." Makoto's fingers were tangled in Lord Sousuke's hair, as he approached a thunderous orgasm.

"Yes, yes, my sweet macaron! Melt away! Melt right into my mouth!" Lord Sousuke drank up all of Makoto's love juices, and licked his lips afterwards.

They both stayed in the North Tower all night, sixty-nining and banging into the dawn. 

 

 

                                                                                     

[Illustration 3: Makoto getting a blow job from Lord Sousuke in the North Tower]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Location for Pics: Casa Loma (Toronto, Canada)
> 
> ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)


	52. A Prayer Before Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto's POV.

I know Sousuke is waiting for me in the shadows.

He would not simply have left after what happened tonight, but he would like me to believe that he isn’t there.

I still do not understand why I became angry at him.

Maybe because there are still parts of me that I want to destroy. Secrets that I do not want him to know.

I do not want my darkness to drown him.

And yet he almost died trying to save something that was long lost.

 

The truth is that I am angry at myself.

Because of me, the man I loved put himself at risk.

He was hurt because of me.

He should hate me, this beautiful man who claims to be in love with me.

My shadow-protector, a prowling hunter following closely behind his prey.  

The man I have dreamt of and craved with every atom in my body since the first stirrings of my desire.

The man who is more than everything I could have imagined.

More than what I had considered possible.

More than I thought I deserved.

 

He walks behind me now, his footfall echoing softly on the cobbled streets.

 

The city sleeps, having prayed away its sins.

Trampled flowers bleed on the ground.

This is the hour of shadows, of beasts with teeth dripping red, and whores with love-black hearts.

 

The crimson ribbon holding together my white robe flutters in the ghostly wind.

In the moonlit dark, it appears almost black. Like dried blood.

I slacken my pace, listening closely for my lover’s footfall.

I wait for his hand to reach out and grab mine, but he does not come close enough to touch.

 

I have to enter the temple from a small doorway located behind the altar.

Tonight, the priests of Qamaris would have left it open for the likes of me until the first light of dawn. Tonight, the untouchables, the unwanted, the unclean, may enter the temple without reproach, and pray.

Pray for what?

Purification? Protection? Rich clients? Kinder men who won’t beat us after they’re done fucking our holes?

 

No one ever told us what we were meant to pray for.

And we never shared our secret prayers with each other.

On this night, year after year, we would make our pilgrimage, holding little lanterns in our hands, our simple offerings to the silver-faced godling.

Qamaris, the beautiful incarnation of moonlight. Neither man nor woman. Neither human nor fully divine. Somewhere inbetween. Someone who doesn’t really belong.

 

Of this godling, before whose altar we can pray for just this one night, we may ask for one thing, and only one. For the godling allows our kind just one prayer a year, and we leave before the light of day brings the true believers back to the altar. The maidens and the children. The unsullied and the innocent.

 

I have never been able to pray.

Always, always there were too many wishes, too many desires that chased themselves around my head. I would never be able to decide what I wanted most, what would count the most.

And my lantern would burn through the night, prayerless.

 

The temple’s shadow looms ahead of me, with the full moon crouching over its slanted rooftop. Between the heavy marble pillars supporting a carved archway, gates of ivory and onyx stand locked and immovable.

I wonder what would happen if I walked right up to them and knocked.

Would Qamaris open them, and beckon me in? Dressed in moonshine robes, would this godling take me by the hand and kiss my lips free of their sin?

 

They say that the silver golding was the loved by an ancient King, back when the night was moonless, and black as the Abyss. Qamaris died young, and the King, unable to bear the loss of his beloved, had the body preserved and wrapped in sheets woven from silver thread.

There in the charnel house of his vast marble palace, the King spent his nights, holding the lifeless thing to his chest, kissing the cold blue lips, begging for his Qamaris to be returned to him. They say that the gods of the sky and the goddesses of the earth could not sleep for the sound of the King’s lamentation.

The Divine Ones looked upon the corpse of Qamaris and the King in his mourning robes. The beauty of the dead youth and the King’s sorrow moved them. And they granted the King’s wish.

 

But gods are justly cruel and goddesses are viciously just.

Qamaris was given life, but a price had to be paid.

A life for a life, they told the King in a dark dream.

And the King gave his own blood for his lover’s breath.

Qamaris awoke, sheathed in silver and smelling of death.

Qamaris awoke to find the King’s blood bathing their body, warming it back to life.

The two of them were together for that one night, until life fled the King’s limp body, and he died in Qamaris’s arms.

Qamaris was doomed to a half-life, bereft of love, bereft of humanity, burdened with unwanted immortality.

In the shadows of the dead King’s palace, Qamaris withered away, unable to die.

And the goddesses of the earth looked upon Qamaris and took pity. They beseeched to the gods of the sky and a pact was made.

Qamaris was lifted above, away from the decaying earth, and placed shining into the sky.

With the dawn, Qamaris would sink beneath the earth, buried and dead.

At night, Qamaris would shine above in the sky, lighting the dark world so that lovers would be able to see one another in their secret meeting places, and children would not fear the black night.

 

That is what _they_ say, at least.

 _We_ have other stories about the godling. My kind tells a different tale of Qamaris.

Born neither boy nor girl, Qamaris was seen as cursed and sold into slavery by a cold-hearted mother and a thoughtless father.

Barely a youth, Qamaris was bought by the King for his pleasure house.

Fucked bloody and treated like an object for fulfilling the King’s lust, Qamaris was broken and put back together, night after night, until nothing remained of the innocent child.

We know the story of _how_ Qamaris died. We know what came before the resurrection, before the granting of immortality.

We know the story of blood and tears, and a silken rope that stopped Qamaris’s breath one night.

We know who killed the godling.

We know why Qamaris was brought back to life.

So that there would be no peace, in life or death.

We know the godling’s secret.

And Qamaris knows ours.

Hates us and loves us and watches over us.

That is the truth every whore tells, this is the only story I know.

 

In darker days when humans were sold openly like sheep, beautiful slave boys and girls had their throats slit open at midsummer’s eve, bleeding to death as a swollen moon rose in the sky.  

The first temples of Qamaris were built out of their bleaches bones.

But no one will tell you that story anymore.

Only _we_ know- the ones who still keep faith with the night, the living dead, the ones forever lost, and used up whores.

Listen close, and the still summer night will echo with the rattling of innocent bones, their small voices still weeping for lost homes.

 

That is the truth of this world.

No story was ever written without blood inking the writer’s quill.

 

Slipping into a darkened alley on the left side of the temple, I enter through a small door made of driftwood.

White as bones.

Within the cavernous expanse of the temple, a silvered statue of Qamaris glimmers and shines on a raised altar, lit up with the golden light of thousands of lanterns.

I can feel Sousuke following closely behind me, his footsteps sounding like echoes of my own.

 

The rest of the whores have already made their prayers and left.

I bend down and place my own light among the others.

On my knees, the marbled floor of the temple slick with oil and wine underneath, I clasp my hands together, I close my eyes, and I pray.

I pray for the people I love.

I pray without words.

I pray with everything I have left.

 

The night feels cold all of a sudden, as if the closed, heavy air inside the temple is suddenly crawling with a ghostly host, their clawing fingers freezing my skin.

I shudder and balance myself with one hand as I fall slightly to the side, leaning against the floor.

 

Sousuke’s arms wrap around me carefully, supporting my weight.

I can feel his breath against my neck, light as a feather.

My skin grows warmer, and tumultuous desire builds up at the pit of my stomach.

As I lean back against him, his lips brush lightly against my neck, his teeth scrape my skin, gently biting down to draw a single drop of blood.

His hands untie the ribbon around my waist, and slip inside the thin fabric of my stained white robe.

A sigh escapes my mouth, like an answered prayer.

 

Suddenly, there is a clattering sound from behind the altar. Startled, Sousuke pauses in his caresses and grips me tightly.

A thousand flames flicker in a sudden gust of wind as the bone door through which I entered the temple is opened and shut.

Someone was here, watching us.

Sousuke moves as if to get up and chase after the intruder, but I clutch at his arms and keep him on the floor with me.

I turn towards him, and take his face in my hands.

Looking at me, he forgets the interruption.

 

My robe has already come undone, and my lover’s hands push me onto the floor.

My exposed body trembles under his dark gaze.

Above us, the dome of the temple rises into an arch.

Vines and flowers crafted out of silverleaf snake about the tall pillars on either side of the altar.

The godling’s statue has eyes of sapphire, burning like blue fire.

Sousuke’s mouth trails kisses across my stomach, finds my desire, drinks deep, and leaves me dishevelled and spent.

 

In this bone-built temple, with its history of sex and blood, and its altar lit by lanterns of this city’s whores, I fall in love with a dark-haired man with teal eyes.

A man who followed me through the darkness and shadows. Held me when I faltered. Loved me when I despaired.

I fall in love and it feels like life and it hurts like death.

 

Before Qamaris’s altar, surrounded by fire, I am on all fours, panting and moaning like an animal in heat.

My lover’s hands grasp my hips as he fucks me relentlessly.

Our clothes discarded on the temple floor, stained with divine offerings and human filth.

He fucks me until I feel my insides melting.

He cums inside me and holds my exhausted body in his arms to stop me from falling.

Always, these strong arms around me, keeping me together.

 

When he is done, he comforts me and embraces me, like a mother lulling her child to sleep.

His love poisons me and his love keeps me alive.

I know this, but I am in love with him, and I will cling to him for as long as I can.

I have been dead for so long.

Now there is a fire burning within me, and I will not let it go out.

This much I deserve.

The days I still have left, I will live each one loving him as much as my body lets me.

Loving Haru, and Nagisa. Rei and Kisumi. Takano and my lost mother.

Loving as much as I can.

And letting myself be loved.

 

“We have to leave here before dawn Sousuke, or my prayer won’t be answered.” If I stay in his arms like this any longer, I will fall asleep, enveloped in his scent, comforted by his body.

“Let’s go home, then.” He smiles softly, and helps me up.

We dress side by side, sharing guilty glances and shy smiles, like a pair of foolish lovers after their first secret tryst in a forbidden place.

Half the lanterns have gone out.

The sun rise will soon, and Qamaris will die with the dawn.

 

We leave the temple with our fingers entwined.

Drifting through the streets like a stray phantom with nowhere to haunt, I follow the sound of the sea, leading Sousuke behind me.

Behind me, the city clamors, waking a little early from its fitful sleep. 

But that is no concern of mine.

My lover and I follow the sound of crashing waves.

We will go far away from here, where no one will find us.

We will live like ghosts and the dawn will have us vanish beneath the earth. 

 

 

At the estuary, where the river flows into a darkling sea, we remove our sweaty, soiled clothes and let the water wash the night off of our bodies.

With Sousuke by my side, the rushing waves do not frighten me.

He holds me as we linger in the sea, submerged to our waists, kissing as though our lives depend on it.

Dawn finds us sitting together naked in the sand, warmed by the rising sun’s golden light.

Sousuke turns to me, smiling again, slowly parting his lips.

Before the words can come out, I hush him with my fingers.

I want to confess to him.

I want him to be mine.

He kisses the fingers I have placed against his lips, and waits.

 

_“I love you, Sousuke. I love you so much.”_

_“I love you too, Makoto.”_

 

Happiness used to frighten me. And it still does.

But I have the courage to let myself get swept away now.

As long as I am alive, I will fight for everything that was stolen from me.

I will fight until I have nothing left to fight with.

And when I die, weary and done, I would want it to be like a dreamless sleep, cradled in eternal warmth, like my lover’s arms wrapped safely around me.

 

 

 


	53. The Dream Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place on the same night as chapters 50 and 52, covering the events from Kisumi's perspective.  
> A bit long, because this is Kisumi's final POV chapter.

 

 

 

Makoto and I used to love the ritual of praying to silver-faced Qamaris. A month before midsummer’s eve, we would pick out the fabric for our robes, find ribbons which were just the right shade of red, buy our little lanterns, and make wicks for them.

A couple of skilled boys would stitch together hosts of white robes for our special night. The one night where we could remain untouched, when we didn’t need to peddle our bodies.

Makoto and I would whisper our wishes to each other- some handsome sailor with a big cock to take us away, a kind old man who wanted a companion for his final years (with a substantial inheritance and no children to inherit it), a pretty necklace or two, silken robes from the East, enough money to catch an southerly ship, enough to run away and never look back.

Wishful thinking, all of it.

We never really told each other what we had truly prayed for in the temple, with our eyes closed in reverence and self-pity, our knees bent, our hands clasped tightly.

 

No need for Makoto to go there anymore.

And what does it matter anyway?

Prayers are as useless as penniless clients.

Neither puts bread on your plate, or money in your pocket.

Gods or men- neither have ever done much for me.

 

Nasser is struggling with his robe. The looseness of the garment makes him shy, I think. He comes to stand behind me, observing me in the mirror, copying the way I fix my collar and tie my ribbon.

When I catch his eye, he smiles shyly and looks away.

There is a kind of light within his heart and it shines right through him. Same as Makoto. That childlike innocence and a sun-soft smile that never fades.

I wonder how often Makoto smiles now.

I wonder if he still prays.

 

Shaking my head to dispel this unwelcome nostalgia, I turn my attention to Nasser. It will be his first time to Qamaris’s temple. I have been telling him about it, trying to get the meaning of it across to him.

I wonder what gods Nasser prays to. The thought of him kneeling in front of a glorified, dead whore isn’t a welcome one.

But the festival preparations have been a welcome distraction for him. His body his healed, yet he still has trouble sleeping. He doesn’t wake up screaming like Makoto used to. Instead, Nasser lies awake for hours, holding on to my sleeve, muttering something under his breath. Like a curse, or a spell, or a prayer.

I give him a little laudanum before bed now, so he can sleep easily. But he wakes up in silent tears, and looks around with empty eyes, searching for something that isn’t here.

I want to promise him that I will protect him. No matter what.

But I’ve made other promises before, and broken them all.

So why lie to another innocent boy I cannot keep safe?

 

Nasser joins me in front of the gilded mirror, looking through a box full of my worn out ornaments, admiring the ones that catch his eye.

I try to name some of the colors and shapes for him, and he tells me what they mean to him.

Neither of us understands the other, but we try to learn from each other as best we can.

One day, I’d like to ask him about his home and maybe tell him about mine.

One day…

 

Suddenly, there is a commotion downstairs, and the sound of gruff voices. I try to listen, but the words echo up the stairs and lose meaning before they reach me.

Tonight is sacred, and everyone knows that no whore will take a customer until sunrise. A chill begins to creep up my spine. I grab Nasser’s hand unthinkingly, and hold it fast in mine. It makes him flinch, but I don’t let go.

 

When Madam Miho comes rushing into my room, her face white as blank parchment, my heart stops beating.

She doesn’t need to say anything.

I already know what she is here for.

And I won’t give it to her.

 

“Kisumi, we have to.” Her voice is barely audible, her hands are trembling.

I shake my head and put my arms tightly around Nasser.

“Kisumi, you have to listen to me. Trust me this time. Please. Let him go.” She moves towards us, and tries to wrest Nasser from my arms.

The boy must know what this is about. He clings to me, digs his nails into my skin, shuts his eyes wishing the world away.

Before Madam Miho can take Nasser from me, _he_ walks into the room, flanked by 5 of his guards. Heavy men with blades of steel.

The demon that used to torment Makoto.

Who left Nasser bleeding and close to death the last time he was here.

He looks sallow and dishevelled.

There is something dark simmering in his eyes. A cruelty I have never seen before.

I am afraid.

I am so afraid.

 

“Well, well. What a touching scene. But I don’t have time for such melodrama tonight.” He gestures with his left hand, and two of his men surge towards me and Nasser, pushing Madam Miho out of the way.

They take Nasser away from me with such ease that I wonder if I was trying to hold on to him at all. I throw myself on the floor, at the demon’s feet. I weep, I beat my fists on the threadbare carpet, I offer him myself, to do with as he likes.

He laughs and laughs and laughs.

Everything turns to a greyish fog, and I cannot hear myself screaming for help.

Through the haze, the laughter, and the heavy leather boots of his guards kicking at me, I can see Nasser- clear as crystal.

A perfectly still face.

Tearless eyes.

And a tilted smile.

A smile meant to let me know that it’s okay. That I’ve tried, and he knows I’ve tried. And it didn’t work. And that’s fine. That he will be fine.

Nasser is telling me a smile-shaped lie.

A lie I never want to be told again.

 

I try to reach for him, to wipe away that smile, to rip and claw at the very fabric of this world, to erase us both from existence.

I want to dismantle this living nightmare.

But a kick in the mouth leaves me bleeding on the floor.

 

“Why don’t I set up a private room for you, Lord Magistrate? You will not be disturbed, I assure you. And no charge for tonight.” Madam Miho’s voice sounds like lace dipped in arsenic.

“That will be much appreciated. And if you want to keep the rest of your whores alive, I suggest you do not bother me at all tonight. No matter what sounds you might hear.” The demon wearing human skin takes Nasser from his guards, grabs him by the hair.

Despite the fear in his eyes, the boy does not try to free himself. He is as limp as a ragdoll, his breath comes ragged.

“As you wish. I will have your men supplied with my finest wine.” Madam Miho bows with all the elegance she can muster, but there is still no color in her cheeks, and her fists are clenched.

“Oh, and I want _him_ there. To watch. Tie his hands, and send him in.” the demon points at me, his face contorted into a mask of devilish mockery.

 

I will claw out my eyes and stop my ears with molten lead.

I will throw myself out of the window, and shatter on the street.

I will cut my own throat and drown myself in blood.

 

But I am rooted to the ground as the Lord Magistrate leaves my room with Nasser, his men following after.

I can barely hear Madam Miho’s voice, can barely feel the sting of her hand across my face, or the roughness of the rope she uses to tie my hands behind my back.

“Kisumi! Listen to me! Listen, please!” Her voice comes to me through a void where nothing exists, a rift between the world and my being, between me and Nasser, between me and Makoto…

It comes to me like a gust of wind from the underworld, and I can hear the screams of the damned echoing in its wake.

The words put themselves together in my head.

The screaming stops.

I allow myself to be lead to the room where Nasser is.

Naked and tied to the bed.

 _Makoto’s old bed_.

I am made to sit in a chair at the foot of the bed. I can see Nasser’s face. I can smell his fear.

 

Makoto used to sit in this chair when he wanted to write poems.

He was lost inside his own world then, and I almost believed he was an angel when I looked at him. A seraph with wings of white, fallen to the earth to pay for the sins of men and women. Rolls of parchment at his feet, covered in such lovely words. He would write and write and write until his fingers blistered.

And then he would rip it all to shreds.

Every single word he had written, all those poems, all those lovely words.

Ripped and torn and burned in the fireplace.

 

“You remember your little friend don’t you? The little green-eyed bitch?” The demon tightens the rope around Nasser’s small wrists, and looks at me with a sickening smile.

I stare at him blankly, thinking of Makoto. Thinking of the way he used to tear up his poems.

“He had the nerve to attack me tonight, can you believe it? Jumped at me, and put his hands around my throat. Imagine that! I never thought he had it in him. He’ll pay for it later, though. I’ll make sure of it. But for now, I need something to stand in his place, you see. Something I can destroy.” The demon takes Nasser’s face in one hand and looks at him closely.

“He’s a quiet one, isn’t he? Would be better if he screamed. But we have all night, don’t we? I’ll have him screaming soon enough. And don’t you try to close your eyes. Your name is Kisumi, right? It’s all pointless if you don’t see it all, Kisumi. I’ll simply be forced to repeat everything that you miss.” He slaps Nasser across the face. The boy yelps from the force of it, and the corner of his mouth starts bleeding.

The demon bends down to lick the blood.

He draws out his sword from its sheath.

“I’ve always used the handle until now, you know. But tonight I’m curious what will happen if I use the blade instead. Don’t you want to know that too?” He looks at me as he pushes apart Nasser’s legs.

He watches the candlelight flicker against his blade.

 

It happens in the blink of an eye, a little less than a heartbeat.

Madam Miho has told me which way to bend my hands to loosen the rope.

Her small dagger with its pearl handle is tucked inside my robe.

 

When I throw myself at the demon, he doesn’t even have the time to shout for help.

The sword falls from his hand and clatters soundless onto the sea-green carpet.

I am sitting on his chest, my small and sharp blade pushed against his throat.

His arms reach up. His hands try to grip my throat.

But I jam my little blade in the side of his throat, and I watch his eyes cloud over with fear, his mouth bubble with blackened blood.

Demon’s blood, devil’s blood.

 

I have all night to watch him die.

 

Makoto loved my nails. Long and sharp and painted pink.

He liked sitting with me and watching me paint them.

 

I dig my sharp, pink nails into the Lord Magistrate’s eyes. I twist them around, dyeing them red.

He screams.

I laugh.

Blood pours from his neck, his mouth, his eyes.

I slide my blood-slick nails across the length of his face.

His thin, sallow, papery skin curls away and rips apart.

Rips apart like bits of torn parchment dripping with red ink.

I slice, and gouge, and claw until there is nothing left of his visage.

Just swirling redness, tinged with black.

 

I laugh and laugh and laugh.

 

Until I hear the sound of my name in a soft, broken voice.

_Nasser._

 

Before I come to my senses, Madam Miho rushes in, and pulls me off the remains of the demon I have slaughtered with one small blade and my bare hands.

She looks at me with sharp, steady eyes.

She wipes my hands on the hem of her dress. A beautiful dress- black lace and a bit of silk.

She unties Nasser, and dresses hurriedly him in dark clothes.

It’s only when I feel Nasser’s arms around my waist, when I hear his voice calling out to me, that I am myself again.

 

Madam Miho gives me a pouch full of coins and a traveling cloak.

“I’ll have to blame this on you. To save the rest of the boys. You know that right? Take Nasser, and go to down the docks. Now. Before dawn, Hurry.” She gives me a piece of paper, and kisses my forehead roughly.

“What about his men?” I wonder how we will ever get passed those armed guards.

“The wine took care of them. When they wake, a little money greasing their palms will send them on their way, all quiet and hushed. I still have friends in high places. Friends with secrets they don’t want the world to know. I’ll take care of the rest. Now take Nasser and go!” She gives us both a single, swift hug and leads us out through the backdoor.

 

I hold Nasser’s hand tightly in mine.

We run down dark streets and deserted alleys.

I have to go past the temple and down the main market street to reach the docks.

The temple looms ahead, and I drag Nasser behind me, rushing us towards salvation.

 

“Halt! Who goes there?” The watchman’s voice sounds like the closing click of a prison door.

I am still as stone, holding Nasser’s sweaty palm in mine.

“I asked you a question. And I expect an answer.” The watchman approaches us and stares me down.

 

I have left everything I used to be in a room with a sea-green carpet and the bloody remains of a demon.

 

“Qamaris”. Nasser points to the temple, and tugs at my sleeve with his free hand.

The watchman’s gaze turns from severe to lecherous.

“Bit young for that, aren’t you?” He licks his lips as he takes in Nasser’s face.

“No business tonight, sir. But you can find us tomorrow night, if you please. The alleyway behind that old sailors’ den? It’ll be on us.” Having finally found my voice again, I make my words as sugary and convincing as I possibly can.

The watchman smirks at us, and lets us leave.

I know he is still watching, and we have no choice.

I take Nasser into the temple, through the backdoor.

Quietly, quietly.

We mustn’t be seen or heard.

 

There is someone inside.

Two shapes move in the flickering light of a thousand candles.

Two shades play in the dark, barely touching.

I know these shapes, I know these whispered voices.

I hold my breath.

I hold Nasser’s hand.

We wait for them to play their shadow games and leave.

 

Nasser must be tired.

Kneeling against me, he loses his balance.

He stumbles, falls, and knocks down an empty bowl. The kind made of brass used by the priests to fill with scented oil to smear on Qamaris’s statuette.

The shadows cease their play, startled into stillness.

I pull Nasser up.

We are running again, under the light of a sinking moon.

Running down the street littered with the remains of the day.

Festival flowers and lost ribbons.

 

Running and running and running until we can see the lateen sails of a foreign ship rising up before us.

The docks are buzzing with the sounds of sea-bound men and women.

I fumble for the bit of paper I’ve tucked inside my robe.

 

 _Zahra Tul Khaleej. Captain’s name is Safina. Tell her Miho sent you and give her the brass coin_.

 

The ship before me has a name, but it is in a language I cannot read. It rises up out of the water like a swan, curving gently.

Desperate to know if this ship is the one Madam Miho sent us to, I clutch at the nearest human body.

A tall man with dark skin and eyes like a sea-storm turns to me and smiles the brightest smile I have ever seen.

An open, warm smile.

It hides nothing, tells no lies.

 

“How is it that I can help you, my friend?” He places a calming hand on my shoulder, and looks curiously at Nasser who is clinging to me as if I’m his mother.

The stranger’s voice sounds like crackling firewood. His accent is foreign, and his words are thick with little use.

“Ship. I’m looking for this ship.” I shove the little piece of paper with Madam Miho’s writing on it.

He looks at it and smiles with embarrassment.

“I am sorry. I only speak a little of your tongue, you see. The words, I cannot read. You will have to tell me.”

“I think it says _Zahra Tul Khalej_? I think?” For some reason, I refuse to let go of this strange man. He is the only thing keep me steady right now.

He looks at me with narrowed eyes.

“Do you know of her captain then?” Despite his obvious distrust of me, he lets me hold on to him.

“Safina, yes. That’s it. That’s what it says. Do you know this ship? Please, please we must board it tonight.” I have never cried since I was 8. But now I am in tears.

“Do not weep, beautiful one. I will take you to Captain Safina. But first, I must have your names.” His face softens again. Nasser and I look too pathetic, too desperate to pose any threat to anyone.

“I am Kisumi, and this is Nasser. We are…well, runaway whores, to tell the truth.” I start laughing through my tears. My head spins, and I would fall were it not for Nasser and this man.

“And I am Hassham. First mate of the _Zahra_.” I can see pity in his gaze now. I wish I had kept my mouth shut. But my robe and my nails and my painted face speak for me even when I hold my tongue.

Hassham takes us to a little inn by the docks, where his crewmates and captain are having cups of hot coffee, tea, and mead.

Their language is vaguely familiar to me, and Nasser’s face perks up at the sound of it.

His grip on my sleeve loosens a little, as though he finally feels safe.

 

The captain is a tall, sturdy woman.

Beautiful and deadly. Dressed in leather from head to toe, with a silk scarf wrapped around her head like a turban, covering her hair.

She sits on a barstool with her legs crossed, sipping a mug of steaming coffee.

She looks like a queen on her rightful throne.

 

Hassham talks to her in a quiet voice.

While she listens, she looks at me and Nasser carefully, measuring our worth with her dark eyes.

At the end of his speech, she nods.

“Hassham says you know my name. Who told it to you?” She speaks fluidly, with the steady voice of someone who knows at least 10 languages as well as the one they were born with.

I remember Madam Miho’s note. I pull out the little brass coin from among the gold ones, and hand it to her.

“Madam Miho sent us. She said to give you this.” I place the coin on the palm of my hand and extend it towards Captain Safina.

“Is that old crone still alive then?” The Captain laughs into her coffee, and takes the coin from me.

She turns to look at Nasser then, and asks him something in a tongue I have learned to recognize a little by now.

Nasser’s eyes shine as he listens to her and he answers her excitedly.

After speaking with him for a while, she takes the rest of the coins from me as payment for our passage, and waves us off with a leather-gloved hand.

 

Hassham takes me by the elbow and leads me out, with Nasser still holding my sleeve.

“Will she let us on board then?” I have to know if we are safe, if we can escape this city.

“She will let Nasser board as a passenger. She says the coins are only enough for one. Besides, he’s one of ours, this boy. We will take him back home, and see if we can find his family.” Hassham looks straight ahead as he speaks.

I stop walking, and he turns to look at me, a sad smile playing on his full lips.

“Please, please let me come. I’ll do anything. You can use me anyway you want. But please take me with you.” I can hear my voice breaking, but any pride I had left is far behind me now.

 

“I didn’t say anything about leaving you behind now, did I, beautiful one? You do not have to beg this way. It does not suit you.” He wipes a stray tear away from my face.

“But you said…” I will kneel before him for the rest of my life if he will take me with him.

“You did not let me finish. We need a translator for your language, you see. We had one, but she ran off with a lover at our last port. She was the Captain’s woman. Beautiful woman with sparkling green eyes, like jade. Smiled like the rising sun. But her heart. It was fickle. So away she went. And now we are in need. And here you are.” Hassham starts walking towards the ship again, and I follow, trusting him blindly.

“But I can’t speak your language. I’d be useless to you.” If it is pity that he wants to give me, I will take it, as long as I can sail away from here.

“True. But you can read and write your words, yes? Then you will teach me to do so. And I will let you stay in my cabin, as my teacher. You like that deal, do you not?” He smiles at me again, a little playfully this time.

I can only nod at him. The relief sweeping over me is so vast, I feel myself slipping away in its wake.

 

Hassham helps me and Nasser into a little boat, and rows it to the towering ship waiting for us, swaying gently upon the moonlit waves.

I barely make it up to the ship before my head starts spinning again. I am tired, I am hungry, I am sore.

But I am free.

I let sleep and darkness take me, still holding Nasser’s hand in mine, with Hassham supporting me with a steady arm.

 

 

********

 

Hassham’s cabin smells of brine and sandalwood.

It is full of books in various degrees of decay and rot, in languages I do not yet underdstand.

The sea is not a good place for parchment, but that doesn’t stop Hassham from buying more at every port we drop anchor in.

His bed is narrow and he likes to cover himself with too many warm blankets.

But I am used to the warmth now, to the feel of his body next to mine, and the way his arms drape loosely around my waist while he sleeps.

 

Hassham gets up at first light to make sure the ship is running smoothly and takes his breakfast with Captain Safina.

Nasser and I eat ours in Hassham’s cabin.

 _Our cabin now_ , he tells me.

After breakfast, I teach Hassham how to write my language, and Nasser shows me how to write theirs.

After lunch, Nasser joins the Captain for lessons in seafaring and map-reading. She has taken a shine to Nasser, and Hassham says she intends to make a sailor out of him before this journey ends.

In the evening, if the sea is calm, the sailors gather to tell stories of their adventures. Hassham says most of them are lies anyway.

I stay in our cabin, away from the noise and the laughter, and have dinner by myself.

The solitude is soothing. I don’t think I’ve ever been alone in my life before.

 

I think of Makoto, and the two shadows dancing around each other in the temple that night.

I wonder if he is happy, if he is safe with that man with his severe face and icy teal eyes.

I wonder if Makoto will hate me for leaving him behind, when we always dreamt of sailing away together.

 

Hassham comes back to me at night.

In the beginning, he was shy and overly courteous.

He told me I had taken his heart away from his without asking permission on that first night.

He spoke to me in verses, and made up bad poems about my hair.

But now he is like a slow-building storm. He winds his body around mine, and draws out my desire, taking half the night in its pleasure. He takes me over and ravages me then, until I am asleep in his arms, naked under the blankets.

He still writes bad poems about my hair, and gets a little upset when I laugh at him. Pouts at me, and won’t relent until I kiss him.

He says he wants to take me to the Southern Isles, where crystal flowers grow out of a blackened earth, and the constellations are unlike the ones we see now.

He reads stories to me from his books, and sings to me in the lulling tongue of his land.

 

I have told him everything. Makoto, Nasser, and the demon I slayed with a small blade and my bare hands.

Even the things from before. The ones I never told anyone. Not even Makoto.

Dead parents.

A rich aunt who claimed that she could only afford to take one of us, so I begged her to take my little brother away.

The orphanage, the street, the brothel.

Such an old, worn out story.

But Hassham listened to it as if it was the only story in the whole world.

 

Makoto and I always used to dream of distant places and sailing ships.

It was Makoto’s dream, really. I only borrowed it from him.

Sometimes, when I am alone, I feel like a thief.

I feel like I am living Makoto’s life. The life he should have had.

 

Then Hassham is with me, and I hear his laughter, and listen to his bad poems.

And I realize that I can live with the guilt of being a thief.

 

********

 

 

We have sailed for months.

Hassham tells me that we are near our last port now.

The place where Nasser was stolen from, where his family is probably waiting for him.

Nasser wants me to go with him.

Hassham wants me to stay.

I think of a little cottage in a quiet town by the vast, golden desert. Minarets of marble and domes of sapphire burning in the crimson sun.

A soft life, without any edges.

Makoto would have liked it.

 

But that little cabin with Hassham and his books and his too-warm blankets, smelling of brine and sandalwood- that is the first place I have ever felt safe, felt loved.

That is my home.

And I cannot bear to leave it.

 

Nasser stands beside me as we watch the coastline draw near.

Hassham calls out to us from the crow’s nest, waving happily from above.

I shout back at him, telling him to be careful.

He always has his head in the clouds, or in his books.

 

Standing beside me, Nasser reaches for my hand.

“Kisumi.” He says my name with the sadness of parting in his voice.

I put my arm around him, and he leans against my shoulder.

“Thank you, Kisumi.” He is a fast learner, this boy.

My eyes blur, and I cannot see the shore anymore.

When we land, I will ask Hassham to get me parchment and a quill.

I will write to Makoto.

I will tell him about slain demon, the sailing ship, and the man who writes bad poems about my hair.

I will tell him about the boy I saved.

And I will hope that he forgives me, as I have learned to forgive myself.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tip of the hat to Mila for the ship's name.
> 
> And to my fave kouhai for this cozy & adorable piece of art of Kisumi and Nasser cuddling in bed together!  
> http://yumgry.deviantart.com/art/Ship-Ship-680550105


	54. Crimson Dreams, Fading Beneath the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a multi-POV chapter, split into 3 portions.  
> Sousuke, then Makoto, and finally Haru.  
> Each section has the name of the character on top to help navigate the 3 parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter contains drug use, and sexual relations between more than 2 people.

 

 

 

_**Sousuke** _

 

His skin is warmly damp from the sunlit dawn sea. His hair soft and fluffy like a child’s. His chest rises and falls softly beneath the folds of the white linen coverlet.

His blood burns through to my lips as I kiss his forehead. He shifts languidly in his sleep, breathing out a soft purr, turning to his side, towards me, exposing his shoulder blades, his flushed chest.

The way he is now, dreamlessly asleep.

The way he was last night, on his knees on the temple floor, limbs trembling with ecstasy.

And in the morning, shining like a pearl in the sea, laughing against the waves, holding on to me.

He glows and darkens with the hours of the sun and the moon. Breathless, I chase after his nymph-like shadow, his half-moon smile, his sea-change eyes.

Turning over in his sleep, he sighs softly, clutching at the creased sheets, mumbling indecipherable words in a dream, his eyes flickering behind the skin of his eyelids.

I want to believe that he is mine now, but I am beginning to understand the difference between ownership and love. I am starting to understand that it is _I_ who cannot bear to be apart from _him_. I am the one that needs him- my body craves his, my heart aches for his affection. I have never desired so desperately before- to be desired, to be loved, to be wanted, needed, dreamt of…

Leaving a soft kiss on his parted lips, tasting the lingering sea from the tip of his tongue, I pull away, leaving him to his dreams.

 

The day passes swiftly by, the midday sun sinks closer to the horizon, and still Makoto sleeps.

I sit at my desk by the window, sifting through the meaningless stack of missives, catching a word or a phrase, here and there. My eyes linger at the dull, distorted reflection of the sleeping boy, mirrored back into my eyes through the sunlit windowpane.

I feel like a fool. How have I become so tangled up in him? I was going to bind him to me, keep him at my feet, dress him in silks and pearls, drink wine from his mouth when the thirst struck me, tie him to my bed and fuck him when the urge arose.

Sordid fantasies born of a spoiled, stubborn heart.

Now I would crawl across the Singing Sands for a year and a thousand more just to hear him call my name.

 

Something surges inside my chest then- an old and exhausted emotion. I want to shake him awake and sweep him away, to sink to the bottom of the sea, chained to his limbs.

Every atom in my body screams for him.

I want to return to the cold, dark night; the swift, golden morning- the temple and the sea- the two of us under the vast chamber of the still, eternal sky.

 

Then the door opens without a knock, and Nanase flutters in without permission, bold as brass, his deep blue cloak swirling behind him as if he is carried forth on a storm wind, even though the air in the room is unmoving and heavy.

He drops onto the bed beside Makoto, leaning close, touching his hair, feeling the skin between my beloved’s collarbones.

“Why is his hair damp? Did he go out to the sea last night? You shouldn’t have let him.” Haru frowns at me even as his fingers linger on Makoto’s skin, tracing the bareness of his shoulders, the outline of his neck.

“I do not owe you any answers, Nanase. Besides, you know he does not listen once his mind is made up. I can barely keep up with him as it is.” With swift deliberation, I find myself occupying the narrow space on the bed beside Makoto, opposite Haru.

He pouts, cheeks going a little pink, refusing to withdraw, even as his body clenches at the closeness of my presence. I reach a challenging hand out to him, and touch his face lightly with one hand, even as I slip the other under the sheets, placing it firmly on Makoto’s hipbone. Haru snarls at me under his breath, his blush deepens, but he does not move.

I laugh then, running my fingers across Haru’s thin lips, wondering what Makoto felt when he kissed this cold, inexperienced boy. If they ever fuck each other, would Makoto be the one to take him, or will this ethereal sylph take charge. I wonder what it would be like to watch them together. I wonder if Makoto thinks about fucking him. When I move in to kiss him, Haru does little to resist. He opens his mouth, letting me in. He knows what he is doing, though he may look like he has never been touched before. His tongue wraps itself around mine- though it feels more like a duel than a kiss. We are both searching for the same thing, so why not help each other look for it?

We part suddenly, panting for breath.

Makoto is still asleep, dreaming softly between us, as we both hold on to him for dear life.

As if to cleanse himself, Haru wipes his lips roughly across his sleeve. He is no longer blushing. We have both found out what we wanted to know about the other. The battle was lost before it ever begun, and we are not each other’s enemies.

 

Haru leans back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“He’s dead, you know. The man from last night.” He spills the news indifferently, speaking to no one in particular.

I wait quietly, resting my chin on Makoto’s head.

“There was some commotion at the brothel. After the festival. The skin on his face was all but stripped off, they say. Nothing left to recognize. But his rings and his sword were easy enough to identify. His men had slipped off somewhere, before the body was found. He was alone apparently. One of the whores got him. They say his wife laughed and laughed when she came to identify the body.” Haru turns to look at Makoto, and smiles softly.

“Do they know who did it?” Makoto’s voice is raspy with sleep, but sharp as knives.

“Not really. The brothel’s madam was taken away for questioning, but they let her go after the widow asked them to. At any rate, they say the murderer’s run off- boarded a ship and sailed away in the night.” Haru steals a look at me then, sharing the feeling of guilt and impotence. _It should have been one of us. We should have killed that monster. Together._  

“Don’t call him that, Haru. Whoever killed that demon was no murderer.” Makoto sighs and sits up in bed.

He looks tired but relieved. Like an ancient burden has been lifted off his shoulders.

 

The space shared by us three is so breathless and narrow.

For a while, all is silence.

Nothing but golden dust dancing in slivers of sunlight, slanting in through the window.

Makoto moves between us, sleek and slithering, his nakedness simultaneously suffused with the cold moon’s light and the sun’s sweltering heat.

As he moves, impatience surges through my body, billows of desire crashing against his shore.

When Makoto kisses me, deeply and drunkenly, it only feels natural to let him do what he wants. He breaks the kiss, and, fingers still laced up with mine, he kisses his other lover, making me watch. They kiss differently. The savage hunger, the blazing heat, the wet willingness between us disappears when Makoto kisses Haru. Obscene desire turns into a swift, silvery trace of affection between their mouths. Why should this side of Makoto belong to someone else? I want it too. This strange purity, this moonlit love. I want everything of Makoto that I can lay my hands on.

My limbs move with the force of my wanting, my curious passion. And then the taste of their sweet kissing is in my mouth, like lilac cordial in late summer. Time stops as the two of us move on top of Makoto, the roughness of our clothes against the disarmed softness of his undressed body.  

We stop only when it is no longer possible to breathe.

 

He moves away from between us then, like a shadow, tossing off the sheets from the lower part of his body. He looks back and smiles at us, pausing halfway across the room.

“I want to go somewhere tonight. With both of you. I want to be happy tonight. To forget everything. You’ll come, won’t you?” It is less a question than a command. His glance lingers on me as he licks his wet lips.

Haru nods, gets up, and kisses Makoto one more time before leaving the room.

I follow Makoto to his bath, shrugging off my robe.

Kneeling in the lukewarm water, discretely scented with rose oil, he obediently takes my cock in his mouth as I stand beside the overflowing marble bathtub.

There is time enough in the evening to wash down the taste of the afternoon’s heedless kisses.

 

*************

**_Makoto_ **

 

 

The place is an old one, close to the harbour, exuding a sense of timeless romance even as it stands at the edge of dereliction. In the night, yellow lamps shine behind sheer magenta curtains through the windows of the square, brick house. I have been here before with Kisumi, and a few of my more generous customers.

Cloaked and hidden against the night, I lead Haru and Sousuke into a little piece of my old, sinsweet life.

I did not think I would ever be able to return to it. I have spent so long trying to be rid of it, trying to draw the past out of myself like poison from a cursed fruit, that I dared not recall the lulled moments of beauty, the splendor of indulging in heedless pleasure. They were as much a part of me as the lowly debauchery of whoredom, the humiliation of it, and the loneliness always hovering about the edges of that hazy, staccato life.  

The owner recognizes me, with a bit of difficulty, and a clinking of gold coins. We leave the headiness of wine and incense drifting through the open windows of the bar, and follow a barely-dressed woman down the stairs. Her dark curls dip and rise, swaying softly, keeping time with the movement of her hips. I follow the motions of her body closely, teaching myself quietly how to copy the seductive heaviness of her gait. An old habit of mine. Whores become boring rather easily if they do not learn new tricks.

She leads us down crooked stone steps, into the cavernous cool of the underground space. The air is stifling here, and fills up the lungs like seawater. But you get used to the feeling of drowning soon enough. And the poppy’s spell does the rest.

Sousuke seems to grasp the surroundings with ease, taking it all in stride. Through semi-transparent curtains of silk and tulle, we can make out dancing silhouettes- a cacophony of human bodies in various stages of undress, swaying to the hymns of languid lust. I am rather certain that Sousuke has been to such places before, seeking out the company of beautiful boys and the calm surrender of opium.

Haru, thoroughly unsettled by the claustrophobic environment, moves closer to me- enough for me to feel the trembling of his fingers next to mine. I clasp his hand firmly, and he relaxes, focusing his attention on me.

 

“Would you prefer a sitting room or a chamber?” The woman turns around, her breasts surging beautifully behind the see-through fabric of the golden fabric loosely draped around her body, dark nubs pushing against the soft cloth. In the past, I would have easily spent the night in her arms, learning new ways to seek and give pleasure. But I am not entirely who I used to be. Not anymore.

So I smile sweetly at her, and ask for a chamber.

She winks at me, her gaze lingering first on Haru, then on Sousuke. I press a finger against my lips, and she laughs in a low, sonorous voice.

In a secluded corner, there is a spacious but cozy little chamber. The floor is carpeted with heaps of soft, feather-stuffed satin and brocade coverlets, embroidered in gold and silk threads. A heavy iron table rests on the bare ground in the centre of the chamber, bearing an ornate glass pipe, edged with gilt and studded with rough-hewed jade.

Hala, our voluptuous hostess, beckons us in. She offers us silk robes to slip into while she sets up the pipe for us. I discard my clothes like an unwanted skin and put on the short, simple pale pink robe. I can hear Sousuke snickering to himself as he follows suit, and chooses the black robe, which flows down to his feet, and is embellished lightly with onyx and black pearls.

I have to help Haru out of his cloak, his shirt, and everything else. Sousuke assists him in putting on the pale blue robe, printed with a navy and dark green wave-like pattern. It reaches his knees, but I can tell he still feels uncomfortable in it. I kiss his cheek softly to reassure him. Sousuke claps him on the back rather violently, and whispers something in his ear that I cannot hear, but which has the tone of a friendly challenge. The uncertainty on Haru’s face disappears, and he begins to look rather determined- fists clenched, and forehead creased.

I would rather have them kiss again, like they did this morning, as I feigned careful sleep. I will not have this silly display of faux manhood tonight. Anything but that.

 

Hala lights the coals, and breathes in the opium smoke. The glittering embers, the smouldering haze draping itself about the low-ceilinged chamber, the soft gurgle of the pipe- it all casts a languorous spell on us all soon enough.

Folding our clothes and placing them neatly in a corner, Hala waves at us, her wrist jangling with the weight of golden bangles, and slinks off into the darkness. The crimson curtains close behind her.

 

As soon as the three of us are alone, Sousuke’s façade of surety falls away. He appears to be as anxious as Haru feels, if not more. The two of them exchange a look, which I am starting to think is becoming a habit with them. The concern they share for me- my knights, my saviours. I cannot help but laugh.

I make myself at home next to the pipe, placing the metal tip in my mouth, and taking a deep breath.

The opium invades my senses with a rushing immediacy.

I fall back, and the robe comes undone.

The monster is dead.

My body will no longer bear the burden of his cruelty.

I will wash away every memory of his ruthless eyes, his rough hands.

I have not done this in a long time. Even in the past, Kisumi would never let me lose myself to this habit. There were special allowances. Only in certain cases would we let ourselves descend into these depths.

 

As the kiss of the poppy deepens against my mouth, I start to drift away. I am in Sousuke’s arms, kissing him, draped in clouds of smoke. My robe falls away entirely, and his hands are all over my nakedness. I can hear Haru’s voice, as if calling me from across the breadth of an ocean. So full of concern, so devoted to me.

I lift my hand to touch Haru’s marble cheek. He kisses my fingertips. I hold the spout to his lips, inviting him to share my weightless, floating state.

A little nervously, he obeys, coughing harshly after half a breath. Sousuke slaps his back as I laugh mirthlessly.

 

I feel like I will leave everything behind and wander away. They will keep my body in their arms, but I will have gone from them. Far away. Cities beyond the horizon where stone towers rise out of the mist, black as storm clouds. Golden vistas of southern plains, pools of lightning-struck sand sparkling like mirrors in the midst of endless sand dunes, blue ice glowing like diamondine in the night sky, atop the highest peaks, piercing the shroud of clouds.

Away, away, away.

I would never be found, never feel anything anymore. I would be in the rain, the dew resting on lilies at sunrise, sparkle jewel-like in the heart of an ancient mountain, too deep to ever be found.

I would leave now, I would leave without looking back, I would escape this cumbersome body- but for the kisses marking me, the hands caressing me, the sweetly aching torment of love.

 

The world spins around me. Sousuke’s mouth is on mine. Haru rests his head against my bare chest, his hands touching me wildly, everywhere, as if mapping my body, imbuing it with the secret meaning of a language only he knows.

Sousuke’s hand is around my throat, softly holding me in place. If he lets go, my soul will slide right out of my laughing mouth.

I want them both so much.

One body is not enough.

One soul cannot endure this chaos.

 

The coals burn out, the embers fade and die.

I am naked, exposed.

Sousuke’s mouth on my cock, Haru’s tongue slick against my lips.

I am held, I am tasted, I am pried open, every atom examined and called forth to give testimony.

I am empty. There is nothing to give. There is nothing to say.

Haru holds my hand, twists the tangles of my sweaty hair around tense, slim fingers.

Sousuke pushes himself inside me.

The pain, the pleasure- it reaches me from a distance, as always.

My heart is made of iron, my heart is made of glass.

It is too much to bear. It is not enough.

I want to sing, to scream, to pray.

Sousuke moves inside me, making my being vibrate, responding to each note of his desire for me. Haru kisses me into silence.

I want more of this, more of everything, or I will become nothing, I will become darkness, I will be lost to the shadows.

I am on my knees, I am on all fours.

I pray, I cry out like a hunted animal.

Haru is in my mouth. He tastes like brine and wine, and his hands tear at my hair.

Sousuke pushes deeper and deeper into my body.

Sweat and tears, saliva and cum.

The brute truths of my life, the confirmation of my existence, the only thing I have left to give away, to share.

It will always be like this.

It has always been this way.

 

My being drifts between sleeping and waking. My body feels heavy, my skin is sticky. I feel tongues and hands moving all over me. Everything, all the time, is too much, and not enough.

I wake up momentarily to see Hala removing the half-finished pipe from the room. Sousuke’s head is resting on my stomach, one arm across my chest. I can feel Haru’s quiet, sleeping breath against my neck. My body is completely enveloped.

As she leaves, Hala catches my eye, and smiles at me with a secret sadness.

I know what she is saying to me in the heavy, opiate hush of the underworld.

Time is suspended, like a spell cast by an aging sorceress. Yet the sun will rise, and the magic will be lost. And I will stay in the quiet cool of this darkened chamber, even as my body ascends to embrace the sunlight above.

*************

  ** _Haruka_**

 

 

 

I wake up because of the chilly air. The trapped air beneath the ground, the drug-heavy atmosphere- it is all very suffocating. I need to get up and leave. I need to breathe.

I have lost sight of myself.

I feel like my skin is on fire.

I have never slept naked before, and I feel defenceless, displaced.

Makoto is still asleep, with his lover’s body wrapped firmly around him. Shards of sunlight are creeping in through the cracks above. I manage to find my clothes neatly stowed away in a corner and pull them on- hastily, frantically. I need to feel like myself again, I need to feel safe.

 

My flurry of movement wakes up Sousuke. Fully dressed now, I sit in the corner, observing him carefully.

He grunts and peers around into the half-light. He finds Makoto beside him, and smiles. He kisses Makoto on the lips, and wipes away traces of tears from his cheeks.

Then his expression darkens, as he takes in the chamber and recalls the night we have spent here. His frown finds me, and I stare back at him passively, as if I’m part of the scant furniture, a face carved into the stone wall.

He breathes in deeply and runs his hands through his hair. He examines Makoto’s body closely, tracing the red teeth-marks, the blue bruises tattooing his inner thighs, his chest, his neck. We have a made a mess out of our beloved. We have used him up, marked his skin, drunk heavily from his swollen lips.  

The memory of being with Makoto- and with Sousuke- last night sends a shudder through my body.

The recollection of sensations- so alien to me, so detached from my love for Makoto- overwhelms me. Heat rises in my chest, volcanic and slow, threatening to overflow.

I could not have stopped any of it from happening. I did not want to stop it. I was curious. I wanted to know what it is the two of them share at night, in bed, when I am gone from Makoto’s side. I wanted to taste the pleasure Makoto has given to so many others before Sousuke.

I have always been too curious for my own good.

 

Sousuke looks up at me and smiles half-heartedly. This is the compromise we have reached. Last night was simply a negotiation of the peace treaty.

And now the pact is made.

The spoils of war split evenly between the victors.

Then why does it feel like we have both lost?

 

In the heavy quietness, Makoto wakes up, bewildered, half-lost.

He stretches his body, his feline agility pushing against the drug-induced stupor still saturating his limbs. It makes him appear more seductive than ever before.

His eyes find their light in Sousuke’s face. He whimpers sleepily.

I know what he is asking for, but I am too spent to give him any more of myself.

I leave him in his lover’s embrace, their bodies beginning to writhe as pleasure floods through them like flashes of lightning.

I know the sensation now, but it still feels so unnecessary.

I could kiss him before I leave, but I know he would cling to me, and ask me for something I could only give him with half a heart.

 

When he is spent, and tired; when his soul settles back into the nooks and curves of his spine; when he want to rest and sleep without waking, without dreaming- I will be there then.

He has lived so long without me, without Sousuke.

He is stronger than either of us.

As I leave him to his lovemaking, I am caught by his drifting gaze. Though his breathing is shallow, and his lips call out his lover’s name, his eyes are far away.

As if he can see something in the distance, something only vaguely taking shape at edge of the invisible horizon, where dreams melt into reality, and the mind is forced to confront the absurd physicality of the body.

I wonder if he will ever be able to return from that place.

Sometimes, I think he is ripping off small, transparent shreds of his soul, like petals off a flower, and dissipating right before our eyes.

Sometimes, I feel like one morning, I will wake up, and it will all have been a dream. That Makoto will fade to the back of mind, and slip out of memory with the passing seasons.

Then he catches my eye, and smiles, his nails digging firmly into his lover’s back, leaving sharp red traces in their wake.

It frightens me to think that he might disappear when the traces on Sousuke’s back have faded, that he is only here for as long as he can leave traces of himself on us, as long as we can keep him chained to the earth with the burden of our bodies.

As I turn my back to him, and climb up the stairs, into the bright, airy day, I feel his hands reaching out for me. My pace quickens, and I am afraid, and I feel as if I have lost a little piece of him to the night. A little fragment of his being, some distant dream, dissipates into thin air as I step out into the sun.

I am blinded by the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have come back from the realm of the dead to finish this fic.  
> Yes, it's okay to hate me.


	55. The Ballad of a Custard Tart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto POV.
> 
> This has some smut that is aggressive and Sousuke totally acts like a superseme, so if you're not here for that, don't read the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have forgotten, Kaoru is an OC and Rin's wife in this AU.

 

 

 

She sits across from me, stirring her black tea with a stick of cinnamon sugar.

Looking as pristine as an old oil painting.

Fingerless silk gloves. Black. Crushed velvet gown. Also black. The lace trim on the dress. Black again. The high silk collar? As dark as night. A single ring of beaten gold on the middle finger of her right hand with a black, oval onyx sitting at the center. Her dark hair streaked with a few snowy strands neatly perched at the top of her head in a tight bun is fastened with large pins. Their tips adorned with black pearls.

She is in mourning.

Knowing her, she is most likely in mourning for herself.

 

I never thought I would have to see this woman again. Yet here I am, feeling cheap and tawdry in front of her, wrapped up in my white wool coat. There is nothing more than a single string of small jade beads around my neck- a present from Sousuke. I twist it around my little finger, playing with it nervously.

She smells my fear and blinks curiously at me. I expect her to lunge at my throat. But she just sits there, unpredictably still.

Her teal eyes, so like her son’s, are slightly glazed over. They betray no feeling, nothing at all. I cannot read her. And I am frightened.

I remember the night before, and cannot help but think of Sousuke’s eyes- the fiery intensity of his gaze as he held me, marked my body, drawing a little blood from the thin skin on my neck.

If her son is fire, then she is ice.

I remember when Sousuke used to be the same way. I remember when he was ice too.

 

 

Next to me, Kaoru fidgets impatiently. She does not like the absence of words.

She is the one who set up this unexpected meeting. She told me that she owed the old harpy a favour from long ago. I suppose women like Duchess Yamazaki make sure that everyone they know owes them one favour or another. After all, people are only as good as their uses.

An anxious sort of quietness reigns over the bright little tea table in Kaoru’s parlour. Rin has been sent off early in the morning to the docks, to oversee a shipment of tea from the Eastern Vales. Sousuke went with him, thinking that I had given my morning over to Haru.

It is insufferable, being with this woman, as if nothing has happened between us, as if the remnants of her son’s cum from last night aren’t still warm inside my body.

I want to stand up and scream at her.

I have screamed before. In pain, in helplessness, with unbearable hunger, and overwhelming loss.

But now, faced with her, I want to scream in anger. My blood is red hot, burning my skin. My heart pounds against my ribcage. Foul words burn the lining of my throat, unable to leap out and tear off her placid, pale face.

 

She speaks first, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“I have no right, I know. So stop looking at me as if you’d like nothing better than to kill me. Your mother used to look at me the same way.” Lady Yamazaki places her teacup back in its matching saucer. Keeping her gaze fixed on me, she folds her hands against her stomach and sighs.

“My mo-…That woman and I have nothing in common. Please do not speak of her.” I will not sit here and listen to her dredge out the past again. I want to find Sousuke right now and throw myself in his arms.

“It all begins with her. So why should I not speak of her. Your mother is the reason for all of this. She took everything from me. Everything.” Her teal eyes stray outside the window, gazing up into the still blueness of sky.

I cannot understand what she is saying. And I do not care to. What does this woman want from me?

I say nothing. The room feels too warm all of a sudden. I get up urgently, struggling with the heaviness of my coat. I rip it off myself, almost undoing the belt of my silk gown in the process. Kaoru stands up next to me, and helps me with her firm hands, pushing me back into my seat after taking the coat away.

Duchess Yamazaki observes the scene with quiet contempt.

Or at least that’s what I think it is.

Her eyes settle on the naked skin at my throat, and the jade beads shining against it. Her gaze feels fierce. Almost like her son’s when he is in bed with me. Or when he wants me to open my legs for him.

But this is not desire.

I cannot draw out her purpose, and it makes me feel weaker than I already am.

 

“Your mother, she was, to me, I mean- she was…I do not really understand it myself. You do not believe me? I do not believe myself either. I never faced myself. I thought it was mere jealousy, because my husband was fucking her. But my husband kept a lot of mistresses, and I did not give a fig about any of them. Your mother, she was different…Do you think I had an eye kept on you because I was worried about some servile orphan boy? You have her eyes. I wanted… Never mind what I wanted. I still do not know.” Her eyes stay fixated on the jade beads, on my exposed flesh. I squirm where I sit, suddenly thinking of her son’s arms, his lips, the careful ferocity with which he fucks me.

Then I remember the little gold ring with its green, glinting gem. I remember her cutting words. I remember the heavy metal of the coins her son threw at me. I remember Sousuke leaving me.

I cannot believe a single word this woman says to me.

I will not allow myself to be her plaything again.

I force myself to become as cold as winter rain.

 

“I thought you had gone away to a monastery.” I meet her eyes, and hold her gaze. I do not want to be reminded of my lover when she looks at me.

“I did. Do you have any idea how boring it is there? It was unbelievably frustrating. They expected me to do gardening to pass the time. Gardening! And I was not allowed to read any books except what the Chief Priestess deemed suitable. Which wasn’t much, believe me. The women were ugly, and the men were hideous. And they were all so utterly stupid. Not one person was in possession of a pot of rouge. Can you imagine that? One of the attendant had the gall to throw out all my silk dresses without asking me. They didn’t allow silk. No silk! How incredibly unbelievable! It was exceedingly unfair to expect someone of my intellect and stature to remain in place that does not allow any philosophy or silk.” She waves her hand dismissively as she speaks, flitting away unpleasant memories.

In an attempt to stifle her giggles, Kaoru snorts into her cup of hot coco. I have to purse my lips shut so as not to betray a smile. There is something inevitably charming about this woman, even though I am trying my best to keep hating her.

“Yes, Kaoru dear, it is amusing in retrospect, but it was intolerably cruel to experience in person. Try not to waste that excellent coco.” Duchess Yamazaki observes the younger woman bemusedly before returning her attention to me.

“How is my son?” There is a pleading pain in her voice as she inquires about Sousuke.

“What do you want from me?” I will not play her games. I do not have the strength.

She hardens her face then, and smiles like a blunt-edged dagger.

“You’ve grown more beautiful since the last time I saw you. I rather thought you would be dead by now. But here you are, wearing clothes that my son has bought for you. And those beads too, I bet. Real jade, eh? None of that cheap crystal trash for a Yamazaki concubine. If you were a woman, my husband would probably have taken you years ago, you know. If you were a woman, even I would be tempted to warm my bed with your body for a night or two. You would never have had to live on the street. You were made for pleasure and seduction- can you not see that? What a shame that you have the frail heart of a poet, and not the sturdy soul of a courtesan.” The way she looks at me; I am sure she sees my mother sitting in my place. I almost feel pity for her.

 

“Duchess please. You said you would be pleasant.” Kaoru wiggles her finger at the offender, and glances uncertainly in my direction.

Sousuke has convinced all his friends that I am made of glass. They all tread so carefully around me, distant and overly cautious.

“I was not being unpleasant dear. At least I was not trying to. Anyhow, Makoto wants me to be clear about my motives, right? So I shall be like crystal.” She addresses me as if I’m a favored puppy, smiling at me as sweetly as syrup.

“I would like it if you can get to the point. The sooner we are done, the sooner I can go back home and taste your son’s cock in my mouth. This tea has rather whet my appetite for something heavier.” Two can play at this farce. I watch the smirk slide off her face as she takes in the vulgarity I have spewed at her.

She sees me as a whore. Then I will play the whore for her. After all, it is my best role. I do not care if I offend Kaoru in the process. But the way she is grinning now makes me think she is rather enjoying this battle of wills she has orchestrated.

“If you think to shock me, you are wrong. I have seen my husband fucking two women at a time. Sometimes even three. I have seen Sousuke too. All those beautiful boys he thought he was so discretely smuggling into his room. Some of them were prettier than you. Not all, but some, certainly. And not one of them took money from him for their favours. He must have slept with half the servant boys. And quite a few of the friends he brought to _stay over_ I should imagine.” Her thin lips curve up sharply, savouring her victory over me.

I cannot take this anymore. I stand up suddenly, upsetting my teacup.

My eyes are burning. I will not show this woman any weakness.

I do not care how many boys Sousuke has fucked.

If this is a game of numbers, I would win very easily. I have been fucked by half the men in this city.

 

“Duchess! Come now. You’re being unreasonable. I will not take your side against Makoto. Play nice.” Kaoru tugs at my sleeve, cajoling me to sit down again.

“Kaoru dear, I do not need anyone to take my side. Surely you must know that all those boys were merely meant to replace your husband in my son’s bed? I wonder, does Sousuke still think of Rin sometimes when he’s…” Duchess Yamazaki is cut off mid-sentence.

The little custard tart hits her square in the face. Pale yellow cream slides down her nose and dribbles down her chin, staining her perfect dress.

Duchess Yamazaki must be partially made of stone to take such an insult while sitting so still.

Next to me, Kaoru wipes her hand daintily on a napkin, breathes deep, and smiles graciously at both her guests, one of whom is still partially covered in dessert.

“Now then. There will be no more of this crass unpleasantness in my house. Duchess dear, either you will speak nicely to Makoto, or I will have you escorted back to whichever second rate hotel you are currently staying in. Is that very clear?” Kaoru glares sharply at the older woman sitting across from us, challenging defiance.

Duchess Yamazaki neatly wipes the remnants of custard tart off her face, and clears her throat.

I can see the sharp lines around her mouth become sharper as she struggles not to betray the anger of humiliation.

Her composure is unparalleled.

“I want to see my son. I have written to him. I have sent messengers. I have tried everything. But he will not meet me. He refuses to listen to me. I just want to see him. Even a few minutes will do. Please, help me.” There is a curt ring of truth to Duchess Yamazaki’s words.

She does not plead, but I can hear the ache she feels in her heart ringing through her speech.

My mother used to plead.

She wept and whined and threw tantrums.

I learned a lot from her.

This plaintive appeal from a defeated woman will not move me.

I laugh sharply. I gather the folds of my silk gown together as I rise. I put on my coat. And I turn to leave.

Duchess Yamazaki does not move, does not come after me. No pleading, no begging, no whining. Not even a hint of a tantrum.

“If you want to see him, come and throw yourself at his feet. Beg him to speak to you. It might work. I have some experience in the matter, you know.” I smile at her as prettily as I can, thinking back to the way my mother used to smile at rich men.

I almost stumble on my way out. By the time I sit inside the carriage that will take me home, I am trembling.

Hatred, anger, sorrow, helplessness.

Every time I see this woman, she rips me apart in a new way.

 

Sousuke is waiting for me in our bed. He shakes his head when he sees me. He does not need to tell me what I already know. Rin has most certainly given away the secret of my meeting with his mother.

He helps me take off my coat and caresses my face with both hands before feeling my forehead for warmth, letting his fingertips linger at the nape of my neck to sound out my frantic, beating heart.

He pulls me close and runs his thumb against my bottom lip, forcing me to open my mouth and suck on it.

Since that night in the opium den, Sousuke’s lovemaking has become overly aggressive. The way it was when we were together first. When there were rules in place to keep me out of his bed, to keep his lips sealed away from mine.

I am almost thrown back onto the bed, my gown and underclothes ripped off. I would be naked but for the thin string of jade pearls around my neck.

He undresses standing next to the bed, in front of me. He grabs me by the hair, and pushes the tip of his cock against my lips, already parted and wet from sucking on his thumb.

I tease him with the tip of my tongue, flicking against his growing girth, drawing out the precum, licking it little by little, savoring it like the sweetest of creams.

He groans, growing impatient. He pushes me away, and I am on my back on the bed, panting, struggling against his hands as he pins my wrists to the side and straddles my chest. The tip of his hard cock pushes against the hard nubs of my nipples. I grab on to his thighs, moaning like a bitch in heat. Until he stops my mouth with his cock.

He moves on top of him, his weight heavy on my heart.

I can feel his heat at the back of my throat. My senses are drowning in his taste, his scent.  

He cums suddenly, and I almost choke. But I have years of experience, and I swallow most of it.

He climbs off me, and falls in bed next to me.

Regaining him strained breath, he tries to kiss me but I push him away.

My own cum stains my inner thighs, pooling sluggishly on the bedcovers between my legs. It has been a long time since I came with just a cock between my lips.

Sousuke takes advantage of my weakened state, and slides his body over mine, covering every inch of me with himself.

His tongue forces its way into my mouth just as violently as his cock did.

I feel myself getting hard as he rubs up against me, pushing his manhood against mine. The slickness between us makes, his hot breath against my neck, his low grunting voice in my ears- it all builds up into an overwhelming sense of pleasure. I feel invaded, taken over. I claw at his back, struggling against this onslaught. He kisses me deeply, making me swallow his saliva. I can barely breathe. My head feels light. The sheer force of my orgasm makes my mind go blank.

I am a whisper of the wind.

I am a lingering echo of my lover’s promise to stay by my side forever.

I am only alive when he touches me. When he turns away from me, I am nothing again.

 

He plants kisses all over my body after he is done with me.

He wipes me clean and carries me to the bath.

He washes my hair, playing with the wet strands as gently as a mother would.

But what do I know of the gentleness of mothers?

 

When we are in bed again, my head resting against his chest, his good arm wrapped around me, I say what needs to be said.

His body stiffens for a moment.

Then he breathes out and relaxes.

Lifting himself a little, he kisses my forehead.

 

“I know you meant well, but I am not ready to see my mother yet. When I do, I will have you by my side. I am tired of all this. I am tired of the city, Makoto.” He turns to his side and holds me close enough to smother me.

I am tired of the city too.

I am tired of the noise, the people, the cruelty of this place, and the memory of the life I used to live here.

“Let’s go back then, Sousuke. I want to go back. Let’s go home again.”

He loosens his grip on me, and lifts my chin to look at me closely.

I am not just trying to please him.

I miss the old stone walls of that place where he first told me he loved me, where we joined our bodies together for the first time.

I miss the weight of that place. I miss the woods, the moor with its wind-blown heather, the dark streams running through the land like rivulets of darkened blood.

I want to go back there.

I feel like we will both be at peace there.

 

Satisfied with the softness of my smile, Sousuke kisses my lips lightly and nods.

“Yes, let’s go home Makoto. I am done with this place.”


	56. Blue Midsummer Shadows, Limned with Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haru's POV.
> 
> Nao and Natsuya make an appearance. In this fic Nao used to be Makoto's publisher, and Natsuya is a poet who used to tease Makoto and hit on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME SKIP!!
> 
> 3 years have passed since the last chapter, so it might be a little jarring.

 

 

The city sky is painfully blue with summer, tinted with hints of sunlit green. The city streets hum with the drowsing midday heat. My shirt sticks to my skin, and every chance encounter with an acquaintance is a little too much.

The city has never been much of a home to me anyway, especially in the bustle of midsummer. And now it feels like I’m walking underwater, in the wake of a passing shadow. Now it feels like falling into a deep dream waking up from which is taking up every single ounce of energy in me.

_Now, without you, the city is a body with no soul._

 

Has it been a year since Makoto left? Or two? Or more? Passing time has no meaning. The seasons slip one into the other, day follows night without haste, and the sun sinks beneath the sea, taking the shadows of our past with it every night.

He writes to me still.

His letters are bordered with badly drawn sketches of forget-me-nots growing by the edge of a stream as dark as night, of half-swept dandelion stalks in the hands of a child, of orange blossoms sparkling in the sun like overripe jewels. Of course, it’s the words accompanying the sketches that bring his shadow to life for me. And the flower carcasses pressed into the parchment of each letter. Their scent lingers like old perfume, like the memory of a life I used to live.

_Your shadow is always by me._

_Even when the nights are moonless._

_Even when my own shadow has fled me._

But he doesn’t write poems anymore. Not even a verse or two. At least that is what Nagisa has told me. Makoto’s letters are full of plain and factual words now. But somehow, there is a fragile beauty that still comes through, and breaks my heart.

Nagisa came to visit last winter. He says he doesn’t like being in that hideous, dark tomb that Yamazaki likes to call home when the days are short and the snow falls for days on end, covering the world with white.

Yes, Sousuke has kept the good old family name. He came to see me too, in the summer, a year or so ago. It was for his brother’s wedding in the city. Makoto chose to stay behind, Sousuke told me, his eyes bent low, and his fists curled into tightly withheld blows. But we both knew the truth. We both knew that there are pieces of our lives that will always stay apart from one another. That we can never belong to one another wholly.    

Rei lives in the room next to mine. I barely see him. He spends his days at the University, and his nights buried in piles of textbooks and cups of stale coffee. Our only conversations are about medical concerns- broken bones and ruptured lungs. Even when Nagisa was here, Rei hardly spoke more than a few words to him. I wonder how they will grow up. I wonder if their lives will converge, or rip apart when they’re older.

 

Three nights ago I dreamed that a string of pure sparkling gold started to grow out of the index finger of my left hand, like a spider’s web. It spun out and swept through the stars, into the night’s abyss, and the heart of the rising sun— _all the way to you_.

_And you smiled and reached out to me, and the golden string twisted itself around your hand, your arm, your neck…_

_And you smiled until the very end._

When I woke up, I couldn’t breathe.

I felt like someone was trying to strangle me.

I clutched at my throat and gasped for air.

Then the darkness lifted, and I was alive again.

My grandmother used to say I never smiled as a child.

I don’t remember smiling.

Even the thought of it hurts the corners of my mouth.

 

_And today, I wander through the city, tracing old paths I used to walk with you._

There is a dried rose crumbling to dust in my pocket. When I opened Makoto’s last letter, it fell out into my lap, already dead. I could no longer tell what color it used to be. Makoto had written that it was lilac— a rarity, the gardener had told him. In the letter Makoto told me how he had watched the rose grow: the only one of its kind. In the moonlight, and at sunrise.  And when the rose was in full bloom, he took a sharp blade and cut the stem clean off. And sent the dead flower to me.

I think of Makoto sitting on a bed in a faraway place made of stone, old and grey and rotting. I think of the crumpled sheets underneath him, and of the man next to him. I think of the dead rose lying at Makoto’s feet as he writes to me. I think of the ink staining his fingertips. I think of the open window, and the gusting wind outside, and the too-thin robe barely covering his body. I think of his body, pale, and marked with the teeth of his lover. I think of the way he shivers at the sudden chill, how he gets up to close the window, how the robe slips off his shoulder and how he doesn’t notice at all. I think of Makoto standing by the half-closed window, looking out at the vast wilderness of the moor, burning from purple to crimson in the heavy light of the setting sun. I think of Makoto’s eyes limned with gold. I think of Makoto’s smile…

 

“Hey you! Nanase! Watch where you’re going man!” An iron grip on my arm pulls me back, and out of the path of an oncoming carriage.

Makoto’s gold-green smile vanishes from my mind.

I find myself looking at a tall man dressed rather dandyishly, in a dark suit bordered artfully with red silk in unexpected places. And next to him, someone who has always seemed a little familiar. Almost disconcertingly so. It’s the eyes. And the smile. They always make me think of Makoto. If only his hair wasn’t silver.

I have met them many times with Makoto, but I still don’t feel comfortable around them; not really.

Natsuya Kirishima introduces himself with an exaggerated flair of his right arm, as if we are meeting for the first time. Nao smiles politely, nodding his head at me. Natsuya’s arm is around his waist. When Nao notices me looking, he blushes faintly and tries to struggle out of Natsuya’s grasp.

The way they are bonded together seems painfully familiar.

I look away, upwards, seeking the path of the sun.

They stand by my side, making small talk, skirting around the one subject I know they really want to ask me about.

They invite me to have tea with them.

I am about to make some polite excuse and walk away when Nao smiles that painfully familiar smile, and my lips faintly whisper _yes_.

 

Natsuya keeps glancing at me as I sip a sugarless cup of steaming Darjeeling tea, but it’s Nao who asks about Makoto.

I tell them what I know.

Makoto has no intention of coming back to the city. He does not want to write poems anymore. He will stay with his lover. That is what he has decided. What more can I say?

Natsuya sighs, looking disappointed.

Nao pats his hand gently, comforting him.

“He was going to be great, you know. Nao was going to make him the most famous poet of this century.” Natsuya shakes his head, pushing his coffee away.

“I thought you found his work overly sentimental. At least that’s what he told me. And why would you want a rival poet to be greater than you?” I almost bark the words out at him.

“What I think is of little importance. True, I don’t have time for sentimentality. But I can appreciate skill when I see it. Even I cannot deny the Sun from shining. With Makoto gone, I’ve lost my will to write. He was good competition you know. Kept me motivated.”  Natsuya consoles himself by taking Nao’s hand and caressing his own cheek with it.

Nao blushes again, deeply this time.

With downcast eyes and thin, trembling lips, he looks nothing like Makoto. I find myself wanting to leave.

“Are you going to see him? I have some things I’d like to send him.” Nao finally looks up, though his hand is still pressed against Natsuya’s face.

“I’m not sure when I’ll go.” I cannot look at either of them now, entwined with each other as they are. I wonder when they found each other. The last I remember, Nao was sleeping with a married man, and Natsuya was making eyes at Makoto.

The way people connect with each other, the way they slip into each other’s lives and bodies- I will never really understand it.

 

“You should go see him, Haruka. I know he misses you. He would always talk about you with such a lovely smile.” Nao’s voice seems gently distant, like seawaves at sunrise.

The pair of them leave before me, Natsuya’s arm securing Nao’s waist once again, turning back once to wink distastefully at me.

I sit at the abandoned table in the quiet café, staring at the empty china cups.

The pattern on mine is green and gold, dispersed with a tasteful number of pink rosebuds. The white base sparkles like ivory. The handle is meant to imitate the shape of a branch. I can almost see Makoto smiling like a child, admiringly holding this cup in his slim, long fingers.

I wonder if Yamazaki knows how much joy such delicate little things bring to Makoto. How his eyes sparkle at the sight of a small leather-bound book with gold lettering; or a little bird made out of glass, small enough to fit in his palm; or a collection of tiny, pink teacakes iced intricately with daisies.

When the waiter comes by the table, smiling happily at the large gratuity Natsuya has left behind, I ask him to introduce me to the café’s owner, who in turn, is more than happy to tell me where he procured the little green and gold cups from.

I take the little bit of paper he gives me, with the name of the artisan who designed the cups. The place is quite close by.

 

When I get home at night, my pocketbook is fairly lighter than it was in the morning.

There is a receipt for a made-to-order tea set crumpled in my hand.

I straighten it out carefully, and place it on my desk.

At the shop, I sketched out the pattern for the artisan, and wrote out the color scheme.

He seemed delighted when I told him to spare no expense.

Five teacups, little teaspoons with their heads shaped like curving rose-petals, a milk pot and a sugar pot, and of course, a matching teapot. I also make sure to order small plates in the same pattern, and a three-tiered serving stand for the little cakes and sweets that Makoto likes so much.

The teacups will be edged with gold-leaf, patterned with small white dots all over. And inside, a simple bouquet of pink roses. A beautiful harmony of colours that Makoto would love. The only jarring detail is that the bottom of each cup will be blue. Blue as a summer sky early in the morning. _The part you’ll never really notice, even as you lift the cup to drink from it, even as you marvel at the emerging roses hidden within_.

The artisan assured me that the set would be ready in two months’ time.

And when the leaves begin to turn, and the earth puts its affairs in order for a long winter’s sleep, I’ll leave the city, and go to the country.

To the moor, and the streams, and the quietness of my uncle’s cottage. And the little bedroom with a low ceiling. And the square window through which I can see the dark outline of the woods, and the rising stone turrets where Yamazaki has taken you.

_So I’ll leave the city when summer ends._

_I’ll leave without looking back._

_I’ll go to the place where we first met._

_To you._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a Sousuke POV, and will cover the missing years. I can smell the end of this fic. SO CLOSE!!!


	57. A Dream of Winter in a House of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of international whale shark day, here is Sousuke's final POV chapter for the fic. (It's not midnight yet where I am so this totally counts, shhhh....)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also enjoy this video of a pretentious whale shark 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mh23EjjYWLA

 

 

The old stone walls darken with ghostly shadows. They slither through my sleep, as they always have. Their long-ended stories shudder through the stillness, glancing in the moonlight, shivering with the curtains in the nighttime breeze, twirling around our bed in a soft scent of lilac. In the blossoming spring, a stray host of pale purple petals slips in. When we wake up, Makoto plucks them out of my hair, and presses them between the pages of old, old books he likes to gather around him. He keeps them beneath his pillow as he sleeps. He slips into their pages as he drinks tea from fragile china cups marked with pink roses.

Maybe he hopes to dream himself into the old, old stories. Maybe one day, he will slip away into a book I’ve never read, and will never read. Like a whisper of unsaid words, like a phantom. 

 

Time traces circles around our entwined bodies as we sleep, and when we wake, the morning sings of some past sorrow. Spring passes into summer. Life is a glimmer of sunshine flashing off the rippling surface of a forest stream.

 

Sometimes I wake up in the night, groping at emptiness beside me, still tinged with Makoto’s warmth, his wind-blown heather scent. He has a habit of slipping away into summer sunsets. This habit of vanishing like a sprite in the darkfall almost takes my breath away with worry. Waking up without him frightens me into believing I am still trapped in a life without him.

He spends his days in the wildling moor by the old castle, though he knows I do not think well of the place. There are ghosts in the strangled cry of the wind rushing through the tall summer grasses as evening falls. The moor is hushed green interrupted by swathes of purple. No one ventures there. No one save skulks of foxes under the thin light of the new moon.

The dead clamour about the old oak tree. I am afraid still, as if I am a green boy who knows nothing of the way the world is, of the lines that separate the living from the dead, the past from the present.

Makoto does not fear ghosts. He says he can lose himself in the moor, and speak the language of the earth, catching echoes of lives that were before, of days still to come.

If you venture there, chasing the shadows cast by a setting sun, you may come upon him as light fades from the world. You can barely see him in the wilderness, sighing out sonorous verses from old poems, the wind cascading down the moor, swirling about strands of his hair along with staunch stalks of purple and leaves of barely-green.

I worry he will disappear in the winter, living out a summer’s worth of life like a flower, lost to me until spring wakens the slumbering world again. A faerie princeling, wandering the human world, caught up in its decay, entrapped by me, held here by the morbid weight of my love.

I used to think I needed to save him. That he needed saving.

A fool's dream....

 

Last night it rained. Lightning glanced through the dark sky like a dagger. Thunder crashed about the stone walls, howling like a wounded wolf. The wind slipped underneath the foundation of old stone and rattled the very ground beneath out feet.

Nagisa hid his face against Makoto’s chest and would not look up for fear of catching a glimpse of the lightning as it slashed through the outside world.  

Makoto smiled and whispered calming thoughts and soft stories to his trembling, teary face. Around midnight the rain eased into a steady shower, and Nagisa fell asleep. I carried him to his bed, and Makoto tucked him in. We could have been his parents. This could be a life of peace.

As we returned to our room, the rain grew vicious again with renewed vigor. Makoto ran to the window in the middle of the room and threw it open with both arms. A sharp gust of storm wind threw his hair and his clothes in mad disarray around him. Suddenly, a flash of white light seemed to seize Makoto’s body as he stood entranced in front of the open window. On his face was an ecstatic smile, as though he knew what the sky wanted to say. As if the rain fell to earth only to sing to him.

His pale pink summer robe slipped off his shoulders, like used-up snakeskin shed in haste.

As the thunder howled again, I felt its sound ripping right through my body. I grabbed Makoto by the waist and took him to bed. He struggled against my embrace, his face shining with an emotion I had never seen before. I felt him break free from my arms. I saw him running as though his life depended on it. And I followed.

He ran down the stairs, barely making a sound. My feet thudded after his, out into the storm and the dark. He ran and ran and ran, through the gardens, all the way to the moor. And I followed still, until the haze of rain swallowed him up into the stormy night and I was alone. And then lightning forked above me like an ill omen and I could see an old oak in the distance. I felt an ache pierce through my chest, and thought I would drown.

I fell to my knees and the sky raged above me.

I waited and waited.

Time wrapped itself around me in years and centuries and eons and I waited for him forever, forever.

And still he did not return.

And the sky was quiet and the clouds broke apart into a million sparkling stars.

And still he did not return.

But I waited and I waited and I waited.

The wind sighed through the moor and the old oak branches danced in its sway.

And still he did not return.

So I picked myself up off the ground and drifted back, like the remnant of a ghost, to haunt my house of stone.

My bones creaked like old oak branches and I thought then, with the passing of the storm, that I had lived a hundred lifetimes, waiting for my lover.

And still he did not return.

Until I could not wait anymore.

Until I had nothing left to wait with.

 

 

He was waiting for me in the room we share.

He was naked and his skin gleamed like a half-moon in late spring.

He took me in his arms and I rested my head against his chest, but all I could hear was the rain. But the rain had already passed.

He helped me undress as I shivered against him.

He took me to a heated bath he had prepared with rose oil and saffron oil. My head spun from the sudden lust urging its way into my body through my skin. He slunk into the bath with me, uncoiling his long back like a serpent. Around the marble bath, a hundred candles flickered. He shone with their flames, his eyes lit by these foreign fires. His touch against my skin was lighter than his breath. It was as if he was not there at all. Not all of him. As if a part of him slipped away with the storm, through a gap in the curtain of receding rain, to another place, away away away…

And I would have wept but for the sweetness of his lips on mine.

And I would have mourned but for the warmth of his flesh as he took me in, and held me.

He sang a wordless song as the water lost its warmth and turned as cold as rain in late summer.

Light and life swept through my body then, as if I had taken it from him. In our bed, I pushed him down. He pushed me away, and rolled on top, smiling. We laughed and laughed with our bodies, pushing and pulling together, sliding away then joining at the hips. Fire burned through flesh and life slipped back in from the open window as we fought for our bodies. The silk sheets twisted around our rain-bathed, rose-scented limbs.

Makoto spread himself above me like the sky, like the storm. My life became his with my cock in his mouth. How simple it is to defeat me, to render me powerless. He would not relent. His mouth as soft as his touch, his tongue teasing as he laughed softly, kissing me everywhere.

I knew what he wanted, but I felt another spark raging through me, and I refused to admit defeat.

I held on until he grew tired and his breath turned ragged.

I waited until I had worn him out.

I waited until I felt so full I could have died from his weightless presence over me.

 

Then I gave him everything he begged for, with tears of pleasure in his eyes, with my hand in his hair, and his mouth warm and wet and slick.

He swallowed and begged for more. So I gave him more. I gave him everything I could give. I called him whatever he wanted to be called. I straddled him across my knee and let him ride wave after wave of desire. I kissed him fiercely. I made him drink from my mouth and my cock. On the bed first, then the floor, then by the open window. He tried to break away from me then, but I held him in a steel grip, gritting my teeth through the pain that rent my shoulder. I had waited and waited, hadn’t I? He chose to come back. He gave himself to me. We fucked and fought in the bed we shared. I won. He let me win. So I did what I pleased. Because that is what he asked of me. I hated myself last night, and I loved him just as much. I fucked him until his eyes glazed over, and he passed into slumber. And I fell on top of him, like the earth heavy with its burden of rain.

 

I wake up at noon, and Makoto is sitting beside me.

He is wearing an old shirt of mine he is fond of, and has claimed for himself. The buttons are barely done up and I can see his skin underneath, raw and red from my teeth and my claws.

I can smell our sex from his body.

An old book is thrown open before him on the bed we fucked on last night.

He drinks tea from a frail little cup, a present from Haruka. It is pale green, edged with gold leaf. Nothing like the green of my lover’s eyes, deep as the heart of a forest. This green is sickly and weak— a bud that will die with the end of spring. I want the world to see him as I see him.

I wonder what Haruka would have thought if he had been in bed with us last night. I almost wish he had been there, and seen Makoto the way I see him. Blazing and shining like a fallen bit of sun. I want Haru to burn the way I burn. I want to share the burden of this passion before it destroys me.

A coward's wish....

 

A sudden urge to knock the pretty cup out of his hands and make him drink from my cock instead takes over me. I turn over so I do not have to look at the way his kiss-bruised lips curve like lilac blossoms around the rim of gold.

I want the night back.

I want the deep winter to bury this castle in reams of snow. I want to suck the heat from my lover’s body and live forever.

 

And then he leans over and kisses my forehead.

He slips out of bed, leaving his clothes behind.

He takes me by the hand.

He leads me where he will.

We clean each other with shaking hands in the bright light of the sun gazing down on us through dozens of high-placed windows of the bathing chamber.

We kiss sweetly and make love softly.

We get dressed in our own clothes and remove the soiled silk sheets from our bed.

Makoto blushes when he catches sight of the stains and tears in the silk. Like a bride after her first night.

Hot shame flames his cheeks and he whispers my name like a mild accusation. I take him in my arms, and we kiss pristinely on the clean sheets, fully dressed, like figures in an oil painting living out a still life. It is a life we have put together from discarded dreams and disjointed remembrance. In this life, we can breathe without drowning.

 

In the afternoon, Makoto and Nagisa go outside to pick flowers in the rainswept moor. Nagisa cries because there is nothing left but the heather, subdued and bent.

Summer ended last night.

It is time for Nagisa to leave for the city again. And there are no more flowers to press into letters and pages of colorful story books. Nothing save the sturdy, unpretty heather.

 

Makoto digs out a silk dress from a deserted room with Takano’s help. He rips the pale purple cloth into thin long strips and stitches them together, concentrated fully on his task, his mouth slightly open. The window of our room lets in the setting sun. By evening, there are silk lilacs all around us, and Nagisa is red with the joy of his undying flowers.

Makoto laughs and tells stories none of us will ever live through.

 

I wait for the night, and the coming of winter.

The window will darken with the burden of snow.

Our room will be dulled of light.

Underneath the warmth of furs and blankets, our bodies will seek each other.

For half a year, I will love my love darkly and quietly.

Until spring comes back, bringing light.

And he will return to the brightness of summer flowers and rippling streams and the laughter of others.

I smile at the picture I’ve put together in my mind.

Summer nights are short.

But winter always comes back.

And my lover waits for me though I live and die, over and over again.

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Unluckiest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529865) by [OrdinaryFujoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryFujoshi/pseuds/OrdinaryFujoshi)




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